


Our Past Is A Silent Ghost That No One Else Can See

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), Fix-It of Sorts, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Military Training, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Post-Canon, References to IVF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 02:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 38,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: In a world where synthetic children can be made to grow up and babies have been born with no mothers, it still seems impossible that burned bridges can be built again. Maxson yearns for a friendship he destroyed, Shaun aspires to inconceivable heights of greatness, and Danse has never learned to be careful what he wished for.





	1. Stubborn Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> This work is in continuity with my series [The Synth And The Sentinel](https://archiveofourown.org/series/537241); if you haven't read it, you should at least read parts one and three or else parts of this one may be a little confusing (part two isn't mandatory but highly recommended). If you decide to read that series please note that those were the first three works I ever published to AO3 and as such the skill level is lacking in areas, so the writing quality here is much improved.
> 
> For those interested, there is a second series in the same continuity, [Memories](https://archiveofourown.org/series/970671), which provides further insight and character development. It's not necessary for understanding this fic, but I'm quite proud of it all the same and again it's in continuity.

Danse was nervous about this - it could end so badly if the slightest detail was off, and he knew it.

But Shaun had been stubborn. There were certain things Anthony had been stubborn about, but the trait seemed a little more pronounced in Shaun. He wanted to be able to grow up like everyone else. Pointing out that nobody living around him had grown up did nothing; Shaun was insistent about the idea, and it was clear nothing would change his mind.

Despite the Institute having been gone for almost eight years, there were still synths making the journey to Acadia on a semi-regular basis. Acceptance of them was generally low in the Commonwealth, even now, so DiMA and his cohorts kept up their work at recovering as many as they could. Of course, it wasn’t always possible, and despite their combined knowledge and carefully maintained instruments sometimes a synth showed up too damaged to be saved.

The problem (Danse refused to think of this as anything other than a problem) arose when Shaun, being remarkably intelligent and highly perceptive, got the idea into his head that one such synth could be the answer: the refugee had arrived with significant brain trauma, beyond the point where the mental faculties could be salvaged. A new personality could possibly be created for it from scratch, or - as Shaun figured - transferred. There were more than a few cases of both scenarios that were known.

So now, Danse was pacing back and forth without end in the hall of the lowest level. He’d been told on no uncertain terms that he wasn’t allowed to watch or be present in any way for this procedure. The surgical team was Chase for her intimate knowledge of synth components, Faraday for his technical skill and attention to detail, and of course Aster because she was still the doctor.

They’d started the process at 08:45 this morning. The current time was 16:53 in the afternoon.

Danse paused long enough to light a fresh cigarette from the butt of his previous one before starting again. There were two chains around his neck for the time being, because he’d promised to hold onto Shaun’s until it was over. Through his shirt, he traced the metal loop that hung around his neck with his tags. An identical band still lived on his left ring finger, because even though he and Anthony had been married for all of three days before the Sentinel’s death, Danse wouldn’t consider removing it for even a second. In spite of that, he still couldn’t help but think love was a ridiculous, pointless emotion. All it had ultimately brought him in life was pain, after all, and there was something morbidly ironic about the fact that you couldn’t even stop loving a person after they’d died.

He still loved Anthony. Danse was terrified of the morning he woke up and could no longer recall the other man’s voice, or his expressions, or anything at all. Already too many pieces had left him, words from conversations or the location of a particular scar. The only pictures he had to reference were their son’s earlier drawings, but Shaun had known Anthony for less time than Danse, so his memory was even shorter for those details.

The thought struck him then - what would Anthony have thought about this?

Really, Danse knew the answer to that one. The sentinel had utterly adored his son, not quite to the point of spoiling Shaun but indisputably centered around the boy’s happiness. Anything Shaun ever needed, anything at all, and Anthony personally saw it happen. He probably would’ve inspected the procedure room himself this morning, down to the last dotted “I” and crossed “T” on the charts, if he’d been here.

Really, it was a source of mystery around the aging process with synths. Danse _knew_ he looked at least a little older from when he’d first seen himself in a mirror (he’d already been an adult for that event, assuming his memory of it was real) - he was physically incapable of gaining or losing weight to more than a minor degree, but there were lines on his face that hadn’t always been there and his eyes were very tired. The man who stared back from the glass was beaten down and generally lost, looking like he was hitting his mid-forties even though if he was a real human he’d be 42 years old at most. Combat and stress had worn him down at first, then depression and grief. That pair of emotional wounds was still eating him.

17:02. Had it really only been nine minutes since he’d last checked? It felt longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in canon there's documentation in the Institute that synths can't gain/lose weight or anything, but I think they would still age. They're bio-engineered but even the best machines eventually rust out, and the human body breaks down eventually. So yes, Danse would progressively look older, even though he's a synth.


	2. Best And Brightest

_ How did it take us this damn long? _ Maxson wondered, staring down at the report in front of him.

It was just shy of eight years since the Institute was razed, and the Commonwealth had been firmly in Brotherhood control for the previous five. In fact, since it was a more stable and arable location than the Capital Wasteland, their permanent base of operations on the East Coast was now the refurbished and heavily fortified Boston Airport, with the Citadel acting as their primary field base and listening post. The decision had been made by Maxson, and he’d informed High Command on no uncertain terms that it would be this way. After twelve years as Elder, he was more than a little sick of their manipulating bullshit.

There were some decisions, though, that they were not made aware of, because despite having significant political power by now Maxson knew he wouldn’t be able to get away with them if he was found out by the West Coast. Namely the final idea pitched by Sentinel Kostin before his death.

Kostin’s passing still weighed heavily on Maxson. A loyal and selfless soldier to boot, extremely competent in the field, intelligent, brave to a fault and stubborn as hell when he needed to be. Even after all this time, the Commonwealth almost as a whole mourned his death. It seemed like there wasn’t a single settlement he hadn’t defended from super mutants or liberated from raider gangs, formerly hostile areas scoured of feral ghouls or mutated animals by the man out of time. Everyone knew him and everyone had heard about how his life had ended.

Why, Maxson wondered, were all the Brotherhood’s best and brightest doomed to such short lives?

He’d thought it before, of course, when Sarah was killed. He still remembered her from time to time, not just because she’d been his earliest childhood crush but also through the vision of experience; as Elder, looking back on her deeds, he truly appreciated all her hard work.

In any case, the loss of warriors like Sarah Lyons and Anthony Kostin was always a tragedy, and after much deliberation (and infighting) with his inner circle, Maxson had finally made the change on the two-year anniversary of Kostin’s end.

_ “They keep asking me about it, but I always have to warn them away from us,” Kostin growled. This was one of the few times Maxson had actually seen him where he wasn’t fully in control of his emotions, and he loathed the reason for the officer’s exceptionally strong opinion on the matter. “The fact remains, sir, that they already exist. They didn’t  _ ask _ to exist and they sure as hell don’t always  _ want _ to exist, either. But they know we’re the ones who freed them.” _

_ “Sentinel, your line of reasoning is extremely faulty-” Maxson snapped, but was interrupted. _

_ “I’M NOT FINISHED!” Kostin barked, his clenched fists on the table and his face turning red. Nobody, but nobody, spoke to Maxson like this, and for once he was stunned into silence. “Ignoring their many problems as an organization, the Railroad was right about one thing: synths were nothing more than experiments and slaves. No, don’t.” Kostin held up a hand to stop him from trying to speak again. “They shouldn’t exist. I agree. But, Elder, like I said, they already do. They’re not responsible for their creation any more than you’re responsible for yours. They’re not even being made anymore. Most of them are extremely grateful that we destroyed the Institute, because they don’t have to fear for their lives just like the rest of the Commonwealth doesn’t. They’re sentient. They have emotions, and personalities, and goals for their lives. They love, and they hurt, and they fear. Given a chance, they’d be some of your most loyal and willing soldiers.” _

_ Maxson glared. “Don’t pretend I’ve forgotten your previous actions in a similar instance, Sentinel. And I’ll say the same thing now as I said then: don’t mistake my mercy for acceptance. The answer is no, and will remain no. I will  _ not _ be audience to this idea again, and frankly I’m disappointed in your foolishness. If you try to argue this idiotic notion further, you’ll be formally reprimanded. Now get out.” _

Unfortunately for his younger and less forgiving self, Kostin had, as always, been right. Maxson had regretted his words to the sentinel for years - this dispute had taken place little more than three weeks prior to Scribe Haylen and Knight-Sergeant Rhys returning Kostin’s remains to the  _ Prydwen _ for honoraries and burial. So, in an act of posthumous apology for his closed-mindedness, Maxson had thought and planned and strategized before consulting his retinue of officers. Ingram and Cade had been indifferent, as expected, while Quinlan and Kells had been extremely unwelcoming towards the proposition. Teagan, surprisingly, seemed genuinely  _ for _ it, though. He and Kostin had been friends.

The argument Maxson had used to win over the proctor and the lancer-captain was that this was simply another form of collecting technology that could potentially be exploited by the wrong sort of people. The only real difference was that these pieces of technology could be trained to take orders, to make tactical decisions, to be independently useful to the Brotherhood. Kells in particular remained unsupportive in general for some time, but as years passed and no major incidents took place beyond what could be reasonably expected from soldiers who lived in close quarters and didn’t always agree with each other, he no longer picked fights with Maxson about it.

So, the last piece to this intricate plot remained: rectifying one of his most damning mistakes as a leader. And the moment had finally arrived. In a small settlement far from the Commonwealth, a former observatory called Acadia, Paladin Jacob Danse had finally been located. It had taken them nearly six years, which was all but unforgivable to Maxson. Before his blinding fanaticism and fear had gotten the better of him, he had been friends with Danse.

The niggling voice of doubt in the back of his mind thought eight years was too late to rebuild that bridge. Maxson could only hope that it wasn’t.


	3. Ad Victoriam

18:21 in the evening, and it was finally done with.

Danse all but sprinted down the hall as soon as he heard the door open, and Faraday made him stop to take a breath before Chase and Aster wheeled out the gurney.

Shaun’s new self looked a lot like Anthony, which must’ve made for an extremely tedious and painstaking facial reconstruction. He was a little shorter, which couldn’t be helped, but also a bit stronger-looking. Danse was surprised to notice subtle hints of his own features mixed in as well, which he hadn’t expected - that was his skin tone, those were his ears. And then once the anesthetic wore off and Shaun started waking up, those were his eyes, a much lighter brown than Anthony’s had been.

“Dad,” Shaun whispered, finding his face. “Did it work?”

“Yes,” Danse nodded, smiling in spite of himself. “Yes, it appears to have been a complete success. How do you feel?”

“I wish the room would stop moving,” Shaun frowned, which got a quiet chuckle from Aster and Faraday.

“Can you sit up?” Aster questioned. “Would you be able to walk?”

Shaun limply flipped one of his legs off the side of the gurney and vaguely waved his foot. “I’m walking.” His eyes had rolled closed again.

“Alright. Just sleep it off, buddy. You’ll be fine by tomorrow night,” the doctor smiled.

Danse stayed up through the night, making sure Shaun had access to hydration when he woke infrequently and asking him when possible about where his body was still numb. As Aster predicted, Shaun got over everything smoothly (thanks in large part to an absurd number of spaks that had been applied postop) and the incision sites seemed like they wouldn’t even scar.

Shaun was up and about by the following afternoon, which saw him examining his new self and marveling at how strong he was now. Watching him, it made Danse wonder intensely about how the generation 3 synths had been manufactured and the role genetics and programming actually played. Now that he was no longer a child, it was bluntly apparent how many expressions and mannerisms Shaun had gotten from Anthony, to the point almost of being unnerving for Danse. Anyone who’d known his husband, should they meet Shaun for the first time now, would never know he was a synth unless they were told as much.

And then another, even less expected turn of events found him that evening, when Faraday informed Danse that someone had come looking for him from the Commonwealth.

Confused, intrigued and fearful, Danse made his way to the ground level of the facility and into Faraday’s server room where his visitor would be waiting. (He assumed this was so that they could meet in private.) The man was facing away from him, hands clasped in the small of his back, and he wore nondescript clothing - combat boots, black fatigue pants, a dark green military sweater. But that stance, that haircut, that strong body… even when not in a Brotherhood uniform and his armored coat, Maxson was unmistakable.

“You gave me your word,” Danse growled instead of any formal greeting.

“So I did,” the Elder agreed, not turning to look. “I’m not here to kill you.”

“Then what the hell do you want?”

“There have been… some changes made,” Maxson answered slowly, still not facing him. “Actually, quite some time ago. But we couldn’t find you until now to inform you of them. Synths, from a very literal view, are another form of technology that could be abused in the wrong hands. So, since they already exist, we’ve been allowing them to volunteer for recruitment the past few years. They were interested in helping the Brotherhood after we destroyed the Institute and by circumstance freed them.”

“I see,” Danse hissed. He was singularly unimpressed with this idea. “Then not only are you brainwashed by the West Coast, but undoing that brainwashing only leads you to even worse decisions. What could _possibly_ have possessed you to do this?”

Maxson’s answer was almost whispered: “Actually… Sentinel Kostin proposed this alteration, shortly before his passing.” Finally, the other man turned to look at Danse. “At the time, I assumed he was only trying to act for your benefit, and… it was one of my less diplomatic moments. But looking back, he had vision and a greater motive behind it. He truly believed it to be a step in the right direction. So, I’ve been trying to find you since I enacted this new avenue of recruitment. I’ll understand if you’re bitter towards me for my prior decision and if you no longer wish to be part of the Brotherhood of Steel. But please at least believe me when I say that… that I’m sorry, and I was wrong.”

Danse was shocked into silence for a long, uncomfortable moment. He was still struggling to come up with some kind of response when, of course, Shaun appeared.

“Hey dad, Aster checked me and she said I’m back at a hundred percent. Can we go fishing tomorrow?” Then Shaun noticed Maxson. “Oh, hi! Um, am I butting in? I’m sorry.”

The Elder raised a curious eyebrow and Danse shifted awkwardly.

“You’re fine, Shaun… this is Arthur Maxson, he’s the leader of the Brotherhood. Elder, this is Shaun Kostin, my son.”

“Interesting,” Maxson hummed, nodding slightly. “In any case, as was implied, I intended to offer that you return to your original rank as Paladin. And in light of this,” he jerked his chin at Shaun, “we’d also be more than happy to accept him as an aspirant if he so chooses.”

Shaun’s face split into an excited grin: “Wow, really? You’ll let me be a soldier? I already know all about the Brotherhood! Can I, dad?”

Danse squeezed his eyes shut, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. His mind had clearly been made for him, because as he’d recently proven, Shaun was relentless when he wanted something like this.

“Yes, Shaun, you can be an aspirant. But that means you’ll have to do everything everyone tells you to do, all the time, and without arguing. Including me. And you won’t get to go fishing for quite awhile until you’ve finished your training.”

“That’s okay,” Shaun answered without even thinking about it first. “I can’t believe I get to become a soldier just like my dad was…”

“Indeed,” Maxson agreed, clearing his throat. “Welcome to the Brotherhood of Steel, Aspirant. And welcome back, Paladin.”

Danse sighed again, internally this time, and then saluted. The motion felt unfamiliar after so much time had passed. “Ad victoriam, Elder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that Shaun is a spaz at first. He improves as the narrative plays out, though.


	4. Misinformation

Maxson vaguely regretted allowing Shaun to start asking him questions, because now he just wouldn’t shut up: “Will I get to fly one of these things once I’m trained?” “Will I get my own tags now?” “Am I gonna get one of those cool laser guns like dad’s?” “Will I get to wear power armor?”

By contrast, Danse was utterly silent, just staring blankly out at the world as it passed by under them. Maxson couldn’t blame the man for that, though. This had obviously come as a massive shock and it seemed there were still some raw wounds to be resolved.

Once they’d finally returned to the airport and Shaun had been sent to Cade for his intake exam, Maxson shepherded Danse to three soldiers in the mess who were chatting over an early breakfast.

“Sir,” one acknowledged, getting to her feet and saluting. “Are we needed?”

“At ease,” Maxson permitted. “You are, but not for anything official. Paladin, before you’re officially welcomed back by your subordinates, I would first like to introduce you to Knight Cane, Knight Simmons and Knight-Sergeant Shulz.”

“Why, sir?” Danse questioned.

Maxson just nodded to the three troops - they’d been told to expect this encounter in advance. Knight-Sergeant Shulz saluted again.

“We’re synths as well, Paladin,” she explained, and Maxson approved of how little this fact seemed to bother her. Not one of their earlier recruits once they’d begun accepting synths, but certainly a bright and tactically-minded woman who was quickly making her way to becoming a field officer. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. We’ve heard a lot about you before now.”

“You… have?” Danse frowned. Years away from the Brotherhood had changed him more drastically than Maxson had been expecting, because the formerly unshakable man now took a small step back with a nervous and confused expression. “Why? As far as I knew, at least until last evening, everyone had been told I was executed by Anthony.”

“Unsurprisingly, Sentinel Kostin was unable to conceal that misinformation,” Maxson explained. “To those who knew him well, they understood he’d be in a much worse state had he carried out my orders. After that, it wasn’t long before the rest of them figured out you were still alive. There are no secrets in the Brotherhood.”

“That ‘misinformation’ was also put into effect on your order,” Danse snapped, turning on him. “You were afraid of me, and the only reason you have me back here is because you’re ashamed and embarrassed. Make no mistake, Arthur. I came back here because Anthony would’ve wanted me to be able to come back, and because I need to be here for Shaun. I’m _not_ here to be your disposable puppet again.”

Immediately, the reinstated paladin stormed out, headed back in the direction of the infirmary where his son was. Maxson watched Danse leave with an inner sigh, deciding he’d probably deserved every word of that. He also wondered in that moment whether Danse would have to be sent back to boot camp, because any amount of the man’s former discipline seemed to be missing.

“Can I ask what that was about, sir?” Shulz queried.

“Unfortunately, Paladin Danse was exiled on my order,” Maxson explained. This was common knowledge among the soldiers who’d been under his command then. “I’m trying to amend that mistake. At the time, he was one of my most loyal and trusted officers, and the grounds I used to force him out weren’t valid. He’s entitled to his sense of injustice.”

With that, Maxson left the mess and took the vertibird up to the _Prydwen_. Maybe he’d be able to catch an hour or two of sleep before the day officially started, and he could figure out a way to make amends with his former friend and subordinate.

Once undressed and in bed, Maxson couldn’t even keep his eyes closed. He’d expected some amount of anger, of course, but that didn’t make it any less painful. If he could return to the moment of Proctor Quinlan presenting the evidence of Danse being a synth, he’d change his decision, his words, everything. The only thing he _didn’t_ regret about the incident was allowing himself to be talked down by then-Knight Kostin.


	5. Aspirant

Swallowing his fury, Danse entered the airport’s infirmary and couldn’t help but marvel a little at how well set-up the Brotherhood had become in the past few years. They’d managed to construct some decent sub-buildings, including a much better medical facility for Cade to use. There was now a separate patient care section from the exam areas, a small lab, and a carefully maintained operating room including surgical tools that had been restored with painstaking attention to detail by some scribes.

“And you’ve never had sexual contact with ghouls?” Cade was asking.

“Um… ew. No,” Shaun answered as Danse came around the corner. “Do people do that?”

“For some reason, yes, yes they do.” Cade seemed amused. “Ah, Paladin. I’m almost done with our newest aspirant, and you’re next on my list, so your timing is perfect.”

“Outstanding,” Danse grumbled, not at all meaning it. He had nothing against the knight-captain as a person, but that didn’t stop him from hating medical exams.

“Alright, Kostin, welcome to the Brotherhood of Steel. Go wait outside, once the morning shift starts you can go see Proctor Teagan and get issued your gear.”

“I know I’m going to get new tags, but can I still have these ones, too? They’re my dads’.”

“You can’t wear them, but you can keep them in your footlocker. Dismissed, soldier.”

Shaun offered Danse a bright, proud smile on his way out of the room.

“That’s the happiest I’ve seen him since Anthony brought him a whole case of tools from a factory,” Danse remarked.

“I know it’s been awhile, but I’m sure you remember the drill,” Cade prompted, gesturing to the metal exam table. “For what it’s worth, it’s good to have you back, Paladin. And I’m sorry about your boyfriend.”

“We got married,” Danse muttered, indicating the ring on his left hand. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Understandable. Now, take off your shirt so I can listen to your heart…”

After an obnoxious but uneventful check-up, Danse went with Shaun so that he could be re-issued his uniforms and tactical gear. The entire situation was bothering him even more than he’d anticipated - he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to act around his old comrades-in-arms, and dreaded more of them mimicking Cade in reminding him about Anthony’s death. This was looking like an extremely painful day in the making.

“Are you okay, dad?” Shaun asked, bringing him back to the present.

“I should be,” Danse sighed. “I’m trying to be alright. I think I’ll be back to normal within the next few days. Incidentally, your CO will punish you severely if you call me that while you’re on duty. For the time being, I can’t be your dad, alright? I’m like any other paladin. It’ll stop you from getting into trouble.”

“But you are my dad,” Shaun protested.

“I know, but they’ll still reprimand you for it,” Danse insisted.

They went back to the mess first, Shaun gorging on three heaping bowls of Sugar Bombs while Danse disinterestedly selected a box of Dandy Boy Apples and could only force himself to eat half of it. He’d thought about the Brotherhood often, even though it had been so many years, and now that he was back he felt strangely lost. It wasn’t quite as crushing or all-consuming as when he’d been banished or especially when he’d lost his husband, but Danse still found himself experiencing severe disorientation and frustrated bitterness. Part of him was angry with them for not taking him back into the fold sooner than this, but on the other hand he almost wished they hadn’t come for him at all. He wasn’t used to this life anymore and it showed hideously.

After breakfast, Danse took Shaun further into the airport so they could get haircuts (and, for Danse, a shave as well). Sitting in the chair and listening to his son talking Knight Starr’s ear off, he tried to regain a calm frame of mind. Shaun would probably do very well here - he was intelligent (if somewhat excitable) and his hard-headed stubborn streak would get him through boot camp without too many mental cracks. His innate technical skill would also make him interesting to potential sponsors once he’d graduated to Initiate.

Shaun looked even more like Anthony now that his hair had been buzzed to his skull, and it was only making Danse feel more depressed and lonely. He forced himself not to let it show, though, and took his son to the armory.

“Paladin,” Teagan nodded from behind his desk. It was odd not seeing him confined to the _Prydwen_ ’s cage. “And… shorter, younger Kostin. You look just like your dad, kid.”

“I know, three different people have said that to me already,” Shaun frowned. “And I’m not that short.”

Danse wasn’t interested in standing here all day for a pointless conversation. “Proctor, Aspirant Kostin needs to be issued his first set of training gear. I also require a new set of tactical equipment, minus a primary weapon.”

“Alright, let’s set you both up,” Teagan nodded.

The proctor rummaged briefly, first passing along two hoodless orange flight suits and a set of Brotherhood fatigues to Shaun before programming the chips to a pair of holotags for him.

“Do I get a rifle?”

“Not yet, Aspirant,” Teagan smirked. “You won’t be issued one permanently until you’ve completed your weapons training. Now, please sign on this line.”

After Shaun had scribbled his full name across the requisition form, the veteran scribe gathered a full kit for Danse and had him sign as well. Danse’s flight suits were the variant with hoods, which prompted another brief explanation about that to his son.

“Before you go, Paladin…”

“Yes?”

“The aspirant and enlisted barracks are in the airport now, but the officers’ barracks are still on the _Prydwen._ I don’t know if someone informed you about that yet.”

“Understood. Thank you, Proctor.”

Shaun was directed to Star Paladin Jaeger for the rest of his intake, while Danse made his way to the vertibird with his rucksack so he could find his new bunk. Everything was different from how he remembered it, but somehow all of it was reminding him of Anthony. Anthony should be here, too, but of course he wasn’t, presumably aside from his grave. Danse made a mental note to find out where that was so that he could visit it at a later point.

Somehow, even though it had been years, that thought found him blinking back tears on the ride up.


	6. Tactical Procedures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is where the lengths of the chapters start to get inconsistent. I apologize for that.

After flying to Acadia and back, his failure to take an early-morning nap certainly hadn’t helped Maxson any. His eyes seemed to have no will to stay open and he felt like his officers were slowly and purposefully sealing him into his office with a steady flow of paperwork, field reports, training rosters and supply requests. Worse still, he couldn’t even pretend he was paying attention to any of this tedium, because his mind was still on Danse.

As if to personally push Maxson’s headache over the edge into a full-blown explosive migraine, Cade appeared in his workspace: “The report you requested, Elder.”

“Ah… yes. Thank you. Set it…” He looked, but all of the stacks of papers were ready to fall sideways. Maxson sighed. “Just hand it to me, please. If that’s all…?”

“He’s been remanded to light duty around the airport until he gets his bearings back,” Cade offered slowly. “But that could take quite awhile.”

“I expected as much,” Maxson nodded, frowning at the top page to try and stop the words from blurring and swimming in his eyes. He grimaced. “I can only assume you’re still standing there watching me because you have every intention of offering your two caps’ worth on this issue.”

“Well, first and foremost, you’re clearly exhausted, so you should get some rest,” Cade replied. “And secondly, I think you don’t realize that your former best field officer is in no shape to fill that title again. Danse isn’t going to instantly revert to the way he was when he left us… he can’t and even if he could, I think he still wouldn’t. Personally I’ll be surprised if he’s fit for field duty by the time his son graduates from basic training.”

“Is there a point to this lecture, Knight-Captain? I have other matters requiring attention, you know.”

Cade sighed at him. “For your own sake, I hope you understand why he’ll never forgive you, Elder. In his position, I know I wouldn’t.”

Only now, having imparted such an ominous and distressing message, did the chief medical officer deign to leave Maxson’s office. He ended up tossing the report onto his table atop the stack of other documents he’d been reviewing so that he could lean back in his chair and rub his face with his palms; it served no purpose except to make him feel even more drained.

He had to prioritize. The quarterly operations overview needed to be written and sent to the West Coast, so Maxson knew he should be working on that right now, except that Cade was right (as always) and now even peeling his eyelids open with his fingers wasn’t helping. Clearly, nothing would get done until he’d succeeded at taking a nap.

And as soon as he laid down, his eyes wouldn’t close anymore.

What was going on here? He hadn’t agonized like this since his first few months as Elder; the guilt was starting to consume him. But Maxson was sure he had no reason to feel guilty anymore, because he’d done everything he could to undo his misstep from several years ago. Sleeping was a tactical procedure like any other - he was lying in the most comfortable part of the mattress, he wasn’t wearing any restrictive clothing, his pillow was fluffed under his head. The lights were all off and he’d hung a spare blanket over the door to help muffle the noises from out in the ship.

Yet sleep still wouldn’t find Maxson, because the only way Danse could’ve been more on his mind would be if the man was physically standing atop his brain. He’d always been able to out-strategize his opponents, to plan tactically for any slip-ups during major operations. But for all his hard-earned experience as a leader, this situation continued to baffle him, especially after what Cade had said about Danse never forgiving him.


	7. Ambient Details

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief and shameless reference to Full Metal Jacket at the beginning of this chapter. Also like I said in the notes on the previous one, here's where the chapters are inconsistent - this one is kind of long.

Even thinking back and remembering to the contrary, Danse worried about Shaun being treated differently from the other aspirants. Preferential actions were a great way to get punished, up to and including demotion, so some DIs tended to overcompensate by being especially harsh if they knew the parents of their charges. Anthony was famous for his actions and Danse was infamous for his origins, so it seemed unlikely that anyone wouldn’t know who Shaun was by the end of the week.

He tried to reason with himself: he didn’t know Star Paladin Jaeger particularly well, but he’d seen the man as a recruit way back when and later as an NCO, and Jaeger was deliberately fair and unbiased with his aspirants and squires. Danse had heard him once tell a group of recruits that here they were “all equally worthless.”

Danse was thinking so hard about Shaun (or at least harder than usual) while a squire was leading him around the rebuilt airport, helping him learn the layout after seven years of drastic construction and fortification projects. Squire barracks, aspirant barracks, initiate barracks, enlisted barracks. A library had been built for the scribes (Quinlan had scowled disapprovingly instead of greeting him, so Danse had offered a hostile glare in response), the nearby parking garage was now a repair hub for vertibird parts and power armor.

The maintenance warehouse had also been repurposed, but not for anything Danse would’ve expected. He’d heard that the East Coast Chapter had moved their main operations to the Commonwealth, but this was what really showed it: a whole building containing exhibits of the Brotherhood’s history. Danse assumed this was to help instruct Squires and new recruits so they could appreciate the organization’s legacy across the continent, but looking it all over for himself, he was rather impressed with the attention to detail. The scribes had clearly put in their best efforts.

Then he got to the memorials, and his guts twisted into hatchet knots even before he got to the end of the row. Lost heroes, remembered in carefully preserved photographs and with their important deeds written out for those curious enough to read them. Three even had terminals as part of their memorial, with holotapes of audio and visuals that had somehow been acquired. Surprisingly, Sarah Lyons had one, a mockup of a mission briefing she’d recorded for some recruits back when she’d only been a knight-sergeant. Danse smiled a little to see it - even back then, Sarah had been imposing and wise.

Less surprisingly, Anthony also had one of these.

His holotape was almost mundane; he was conducting a survey on Maxson’s request, interviewing a sample of officers and NCOs about what  _ they _ thought the next steps should be now that the Institute had been destroyed. It was an opportunity for them to bypass the chain of command with their ideas, and a few of them were rather profound and clever. Anthony, for his part, was perfect for the survey, even though his rank alone should’ve seen him leading more important operations. He listened to them patiently, marked down which suggestions Maxson might be interested to hear, and respectfully explained to most of them why their proposals had already been thought of or would otherwise not work.

The image quality was absolutely terrible, varying shades of green on the terminal monitor. But Danse realized that Anthony’s face had blurred for him more than he’d thought, because the man in the computer wasn’t quite the same as the man from his dreams and memories.

Besides the holotape, there were photos from his intake shortly before being promoted to Knight and one of him beside Maxson as the Elder gave his post-Institute address. His slightly-warped holotags were on display as well, still dangling from the half-fused ball chain, and then the damn Pip-Boy. Its screen was webbed with cracks and the plastic casing bubbled up in spots. The ruined personal computing device and the tags in question were inside a box of tinted glass, and Danse realized this glass was leaded - the items inside were radioactive enough to be hazardous.

“Sir?” the squire questioned.

Danse had forgotten the kid was even here. “Apologies. I’m not keeping you from your duties, I hope.”

“No, sir. I was given a pass until lunch.” The girl made a face. “I was real little when Sentinel Kostin was alive. Did you know him? People talk about him a lot.”

Danse breathed out silently through his nose.

“Yes, I knew him. And people have good reason to speak of him so often… he almost single-handedly led the Brotherhood to victory against the Institute.”

“I heard he got blown up, though. They buried him under concrete or something.”

“Really? Where was he placed?”

“I can show you,” she offered immediately. “You can’t stand too close, though. It’s dangerous.”

“Not for me,” Danse countered, but refused to explain further.

Concrete was a valuable building material, so it spoke to the respect Anthony’d received that so much had been used to entomb him. They could’ve done something else with his remains, like bury him in some obscure location far from where the radiation could harm unsuspecting soldiers with only his memorial in the refurbished warehouse. Instead, he’d been placed alongside the other lost brothers and sisters, but in place of a mound of grassy earth, he was beneath flat cement tiles and probably boxed in lead under that.

Danse sank, not caring that the edge of the concrete was cutting into his knees. He’d dismissed the squire, knowing that a growing child would be severely injured by any ambient radioactivity, but the truth was that having anyone see him here would be humiliating if he couldn’t even stay standing. Danse rested a palm on the concrete and closed his eyes.

“They have your Pip-Boy,” he whispered. “But besides that, I found your memorial to be suitably tasteful. They have it beside Elder Sarah Lyons’ display.” Danse wasn’t crying, but his eyes were wet. “When Shaun gets out of basic, he’ll probably come see you. He’s aspiring to be like you.”

Anthony would be proud of their son. Shaun didn’t necessarily know how life in the Brotherhood was different from the way he’d lived before now, but it was obviously something he wanted and that meant it was going to become reality; slight naivety notwithstanding, Shaun was very much his father’s son, and if his father had been a career soldier then he would be, too.

“Paladin?”

Oh, shit, the squire was back. Danse hurried to get back up and swiped the back of his arm across his face.

“I thought I dismissed you for the morning.”

“You did, sir. Proctor Teagan’s looking for you.”

“I see. Thank you, Squire.”

Danse reluctantly left his husband’s grave and went to Teagan’s depot, now located in the part of the terminal where Anthony had once jury-rigged together a teleportation device to get himself to the Institute. The proctor was shuffling things around, for once not attended by any scribes or initiates.

“You requested my presence?”

“I did,” Teagan nodded. “All the scribes are busy helping Maxson get his reports done, it seems, so there’s nobody to help me sort all this crap. Cade said you’re on light duty, so I figured this’ll at least keep you from being too bored.”

“I see.” Danse entered the enclosed storage room. “What exactly is ‘this crap’ that needs sorting, Proctor?”

“We just got a major load of tech from the Citadel, actually. They send us their broken shit and we send them shit that works so that they can break it and send it back to us.” Teagan unbolted the top of a crate; inside was almost a dozen power armor helmets in packing material. “So this is where you come in. All the armor and weapons need to be looked at. See these stickers? Put a 1 on anything that only needs moderate repairs, a 2 for major repairs, a 3 if it can still be feasibly used for training Initiates and a 4 if it can only be recycled for parts.”

“Alright,” Danse nodded. “How many boxes of equipment need sorting?”

“Ah, about thirty or forty,” Teagan shrugged, already leafing through supply requests that would be turned over to Gavil. “The less sensitive stuff is out back with logistics.”

As he got to work, he realized that he missed this even though it wasn’t officially part of his job. He missed working on a project that could offer tangible progress, and even after so many years his intimate knowledge of combat equipment was springing to life again much more easily than he would’ve expected.

“So how’s it feel to be back?” Teagan asked conversationally.

“Disorienting.” Danse decided to be honest. “I’m not sure why I hadn’t expected so much to have changed.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” the other man offered thoughtfully. “I remember when we first got here, you looked so relieved not to get sent back to DC.”

“I don’t follow.” Actually, he did, but he wasn’t sure where this might be going and it made him nervous. “Should I be relieved?”

“Well, you were in a place that didn’t remind you of your bad memories. So if things are different around here, it might not hurt so much, right?”

“I suppose,” Danse allowed. “But all the same, it’s irritating that all anyone seems willing to discuss with me is the death of my significant other. It only makes my life more difficult.”

“I get that, but people talk about it with you because it’s hard for them, too. We all knew him and we all still miss him. It’s not just you.” Oddly enough, those words made something unclench inside him. In truth, it had never occurred that anyone besides him and Shaun would still be in mourning. Teagan started talking again after a moment. “A few days after the Institute was destroyed, he had drinks with me because a friend of mine was killed during the initial assault. Everyone else was running over to congratulate him, but he also got that a lot of us lost people making it happen. Kostin wasn’t just a good soldier, he was a good friend… he was a good  _ man, _ and we all lost him, too. What I’m trying to get at, Paladin, is that you’re not alone, and since nobody seems to’ve told you that yet, I might as well be the one to say it.”

“I understand,” Danse nodded. “Thank you, Proctor.”

“No problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who may not have read the original series I wrote: Anthony (my Sole Survivor) died in a very similar way to the Chernobyl firemen after a mini-nuke exploded less than three feet from him. Because of this, he suffered horribly for several days before dying in agony and what was left of his body was severely radioactive. Therefore he was buried under concrete because concrete is dense and helps block significant amounts of radionuclides. This was also done for the Chernobyl firemen in Mitinskoye Cemetery in Moscow, because their graves were so radioactive it became dangerous to visitors.


	8. Kostin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now in addition to inconsistent chapter lengths, there starts to be some time-skips: not all the chapters are taking place right after each other anymore. Here it's three days. Later there will be weeks between some of them. This is because otherwise the story would be hundreds of thousands of words, which would be even more unreasonably long than it's already turning out to be as it stands.

After three days of absolutely no sleep (aside from the brief moments of half-sleeping a person might slip into during periods of extreme exhaustion), Maxson decided that something was indeed wrong with him and finally went to Cade for a checkup.

When Maxson got there, the chief medical officer was busy with - of course - Shaun Kostin. Apparently the boy had inherited his father’s ability to get injured by the most random things while on base, because he was holding out an arm with a bleeding gash in the skin but somehow looking exceptionally pleased with himself about it.

“...and then he just pulled out this combat knife from somewhere in his clothes! I can’t believe they let him into training with it! But it’s a good thing I was there to get hurt instead, otherwise he could’ve attacked somebody important,” Kostin was chattering.

Cade, for his part, was failing horribly at trying not to look amused by this story as he disinfected the wound and began stitching it. “I see. He wasn’t supposed to have a combat knife at all, but sometimes people sneak things in with them when they go to basic training. Like those tags you’re pretending not to have under your uniform, Aspirant.”

“I… um, the stamped one was my dad’s, and the chipped one is my other dad’s,” Kostin stammered. “But I’m wearing my own tags, too, like they said.”

“The extra set aren’t regulation,” Cade half-scolded. “Just keep them in your rucksack with your uniforms without wearing them, or I’ll do what somebody else _should’ve_ done and confiscate them until you’re out of basic. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, don’t do it again,” the knight-captain answered, finishing up with the stitches and starting to cover the injury with a clean gauze wrap. “Once you’ve had more training, you’ll know not to block your face with your arm, though… it’s a great way to get yourself hurt.”

“Well… yeah, I know that now, sir.”

“You knock their hand away instead, so that whatever they’re swinging doesn’t hit you at all. Jaeger’ll teach you all that, of course, but try to remember it until he does.”

“Why? Is Boyle going to attack me again?”

“I doubt it, considering he’s about to get punished,” Cade replied. He tied the bandage and then taped it to be sure. “There. It’s not deep enough that it’ll hamper your training, but if it starts to get worse, come see me immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And stop wearing those tags.”

Kostin’s affirmation on that one was considerably less enthusiastic. One his way out, the aspirant noticed Maxson and saluted: “Good morning, Elder! I know I’m still new here and I already got hurt, but I’ll do better next time, I promise!” And then he almost ran back to his assigned location.

Most recruits were scared of Maxson, of course, not only because he was tall and strong but because he personified strict authority and presented himself imposingly. As such, the majority of new members would run the opposite direction. With Shaun Kostin, though, this obviously wasn’t the case - he was excited to get back to his training because he wanted to be here, and more than that, because he wanted to do well. This extremely willing attitude was less common than Maxson would’ve liked, because many Aspirants and Squires signed on due to lack of other options.

Shaking his head a little, Maxson entered the exam office and was annoyed by how unsurprised Cade looked on sighting him.

“Elder. I’m sure I know why you’re here.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he agreed tiredly. “Kells and the senior scribes have been attending my administrative duties on my behalf instead of pursuing their own objectives.”

“I can look you over if that’s what you really want, but I’ll still reach the same conclusion,” Cade insisted.

In the end, Maxson was prescribed a dose of a mild sedative, to be taken with a hot meal right before going to bed. He managed to eat most of a bowl of squirrel stew to swallow the pills with, laid down, and then woke up almost exactly twenty four hours later without having dreamed. It had helped considerably, even if he was slightly woozy upon standing.

The quarterly report had finally been compiled and sent to High Command for him, which was at least something, because of all the tedious and annoying sets of paperwork he dealt with, that one was always the worst.

Mission summaries - a squad of Gunners had been exterminated in southern Boston, the scribes had unearthed a hidden bunker and recovered a surprising amount of medical supplies, the rotation of field exercises for the squires was being completed on schedule. Field reports from the Citadel - this many super mutants exterminated, this many Talon Company incursions repelled, this many recruits who would be arriving soon, this many items of damaged combat equipment which were now being seen to by Teagan and Ingram. Medical incidents - only two in as many weeks, which was very good. One injury in the field requiring surgery, and one injury to an aspirant that had been caused by another aspirant (who had since been rejected from training due to mental instability).

Well, there was nothing on the considerably reduced pile of forms that needed immediate attention, so Maxson decided that today’s project would be to make rounds through the base and check in with his officers. It was important to do that from time to time, as assurance that he hadn’t become detached from his troops and still saw them as valuable leaders instead of assets on paper.

Teagan had once informed him - very bluntly - that these were actually seen as “surprise inspections” and that they stressed out the troops, but Maxson had ignored him. Surprise inspection or not, he was rarely disappointed with what he saw. Others would consider that a testament to him as a commanding officer, but Maxson didn’t think that was entirely true. It was also a positive statement about his subordinates and the chain of command as a whole.

First was Kells, who had nothing of note to report. Maxson did a brief check of the goings-on in the _Prydwen_ before heading down to the airport. Knight-Captain Gavil assured him that the concrete in the ruined underground section was holding so far; it had taken until the end of last year to recover enough unmixed cement to fill the area in completely, ensuring that the structure topside wouldn’t weaken and collapse.

Briefly, Maxson looked in on both the paladins training groups of Squires. Paladin Chandler’s were slightly ahead of Paladin Grey’s, but that was nothing to get worked up over. Chandler’s squires were the smart ones, who would either become officers or field scribes. Grey’s squires were the ones who were big for their age, strong and tough to grow into power armor frames and carry heavy weapons someday.

Star Paladin Jaeger was next, and his job was considerably tougher. He had the aspirants, men and women who joined up too old to be Squires, and as such were harder to condition and train. His group was also the smallest, but that in no way lessened the burden. In the course of four months, he needed to mold independent and uneducated wastelanders into Brotherhood soldiers - ready to fight as soon as the order was given, to put the needs of their comrades-in-arms before their own, maybe even to die without question if that was what the mission demanded of them. By the end of the first month, roughly half would’ve been weeded out. One was gone already.

They were in the middle of their morning PT, with Jaeger barking out the cadence and the aspirants shouting it back even though most were breathing hard. The change of inflection signaled the end of the exercise, to which they all stopped on the last count and yelled out “HALT!” instead of the next number.

“At ease, shake it out,” Jaeger commanded, then turned. “Elder. What can we do for you?”

“I’m making rounds,” Maxson answered. “I know it’s very early, but how are you finding them so far?”

“Not terribly different from any other batch of recruits,” Jaeger shrugged. The shoulder guards of his T-60 armor made the motion look as strange on him as when anyone else did it. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like some of them better than others, sir, but it doesn’t factor into my decisions.”

“I didn’t expect that it would.”

Maxson glanced over briefly, then called for Knight-Sergeant Shulz. She saluted: “Sir.”

“At ease. Take over drill for the star paladin, he’s giving me a report.”

“Yes, sir.”

While Shulz obeyed and started the aspirants on their push-ups, Maxson and Jaeger moved slightly away and began speaking quietly. “I knew Boyle wouldn’t last long,” the grizzled DI admitted. “I’m almost surprised it took as long as it did.”

“And the others?”

“Most of them aren’t anything special. If they make it through, I don’t see them getting past sergeant. Worthington looks like a promising Lancer once she’s trained, Dougan would be better off as a scribe. Vargas, Tarr and Miller will be good field officers someday.”

Maxson nodded and wasted no time in addressing the deathclaw in the room: “And Kostin?”

Jaeger sighed. “He’s… Elder, I’ve been at this long enough to sort out the aspirants as soon as I meet them, but I just can’t place that kid.” The star paladin looked frustrated by this fact. “He’s already picked up the conditioning to address people who outrank him, he maintains his kit perfectly, and if another aspirant is falling behind during a run, he falls back to them and encourages them. We began training _four days_ ago.”

Maxson nodded slowly. “Well, then answer me from your perspective as an officer instead of a drill instructor: what do _you_ think of Kostin?”

“He’s not doing it to look good,” Jaeger began. “I think he just is that way. He never complains, either, even when I’m making him do something he obviously doesn’t like. He absolutely wants to be here with the others so that he can become a soldier, but… I think he’d be here even if he didn’t want to be, sir. Like he’s trying to prove himself to somebody.”

“He wants to be his father.”

“Maybe… I didn’t know Sentinel Kostin well enough to speculate, sir.”

“No, it wasn’t a question,” Maxson clarified. “It’s too easy to compare him with the late sentinel, considering the facial resemblance. But I _did_ know Sentinel Kostin well, and from what I’ve seen, his son is his own man.”

Star Paladin Jaeger nodded thoughtfully. “Would you mind if I ask what _you_ think of Aspirant Kostin, sir?”

Maxson smiled, a rarity for him. “I find him much too enthusiastic if I haven’t had my coffee yet. But he’s clearly intelligent and more than willing, so I think he’ll do fine here. I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Finally, Maxson made his way to where Teagan and Ingram were dealing with the last of the broken weapons and armor that had been sent from the Citadel. There were a few scribes aiding Ingram with repairs and scrapping, but it was surprising when he saw Danse helping Teagan with the actual organizing process. They weren’t talking, both engrossed in their tasks, but it seemed like they’d gained an understanding of some kind with each other. It wasn’t that they’d gotten along poorly in the past, though; more like they just hadn’t been in contact with each other much.

Danse noticed him first, getting to his feet and saluting. Maxson expected the anger and bitterness to still be there, but the reinstated paladin only looked tired and sad. There wasn’t much hiding forty-something years of life beating him down at every turn. (Actually, it probably wasn’t that long, Maxson realized, because up to some unknown point his former friend’s memories had been manufactured by the Railroad.)

“Elder.” As Danse said it, Teagan looked up from his folders and also saluted. “The proctor has requested my help until I’m fit for active duty again.”

“At ease,” Maxson ordered as he walked the last few paces to their workspace. “Proctor, anything of note to report?”

“Nothing more than the usual,” Teagan answered. “But I swear there’s this one helmet that makes its way back here every six weeks when the shipment comes in.”

“I’m sure,” Maxson replied dismissively. “Paladin?”

“I’ve started joining the enlisted soldiers for their PT in the mornings. I’m not in adequate shape at the moment.”

He tried to offer something that would make Danse feel a little better: “I just spoke with Star Paladin Jaeger a few minutes ago. Your son is doing exceptionally well so far.”

But the other man only nodded blankly. “I knew he would.”

Teagan cleared his throat, breaking the awkward tension. “We need to finish up here, Elder, if you don’t mind…”

“Yes. As you were.”

Disappointed (but not showing it), Maxson left and went back up to the _Prydwen._ He’d collect his lunch from the officers’ mess and get some of the paperwork done he’d decided to procrastinate on this morning.


	9. Exceptional Soldiers

Two weeks after his return to the Brotherhood, Danse was more or less ambushed by a very strange encounter.

It was morning, and he’d taken his breakfast with him down to the airport instead of sitting in the officers’ mess. This was his routine, now - wake up, ultimately decide that shaving could be put off one more day, dress, obtain breakfast, and then go eat it by himself in the peaceful mistiness of the graveyard. Danse knew it would probably look incredibly morbid upon examination by an outside party, but he also knew he didn’t care if the habit  _ did _ come to somebody’s attention. At least he wasn’t pretending his mental health was sound like he had in the past; he knew he was ill and if questioned he’d admit to it.

“Can I ask you about something, sir?”

Danse almost dumped his food when he started. Looking, it was Knight-Sergeant Shulz, the woman he’d been introduced to on his return. She saluted, but he just frowned. “At ease, soldier. Yes, you may ask me about ‘something,’ provided it’s a question born of relevance and not curiosity.”

“Well… it’s a mix of both, sir.”

Danse sighed. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“When I got here… I think the Brotherhood had been accepting synths for about a year or so. The DIs hated us, but nowadays it’s not so bad. We’re just other soldiers, now. I asked someone once why we were let in if nobody wanted us around… and he told me that it was Sentinel Kostin’s idea, and that he was the one who liberated us from the Institute. A lot of people say that. I was just wondering if it’s even true.”

Danse made a face as he swallowed his current bite of food and finally stood back up.

“Why are you asking  _ me _ about this? Surely the scribes would be a more reliable source of information pertaining to our past victories.”

“Because Elder Maxson said that he saved you, too.”

“I wasn’t present for the decision to accept synths as recruits,” Danse explained painfully. “So I have no opinion to offer on that subject. And I also didn’t know he’d proposed the idea to Elder Maxson until I was found and brought back fifteen days ago. However, that does sound like an idea Anthony would’ve come up with on his own, and yes, he did cause my execution to be stayed. He also performed the majority of the tasks needed for the Brotherhood to assault the Institute, and despite everything, he always maintained that synths were functionally no different from human beings.”

Shulz seemed satisfied with that answer, at least. But she was frowning.

“May I ask one more thing, Paladin?”

“Alright.”

“Is Aspirant Kostin a synth, too?”

Danse was silent for awhile, but finally took a deep breath through his nose. “How did you guess?”

“Well, he won’t shut up about how much he likes snack cakes,” the knight-sergeant smiled. “And having seen Sentinel Kostin’s memorial, for an eighteen-year-old boy who’s supposedly the sentinel’s son, he also looks a little too similar to you from an angle.”

Danse nodded, impressed with the NCO’s attention to detail in spite of himself. He gave her a brief explanation of how Shaun had managed to make himself into an adult and get around the limitations of the bioengineering that had created him. “He’s happier this way. I don’t think he minds knowing that he’s a synth now that he’s essentially the same as everyone else.”

“But you mind, sir. You shouldn’t, though.”

Danse bristled. “And why is that exactly, Knight-Sergeant?”

“Because without you, none of us would’ve been able to be here. There’s more of us than you probably know, sir. And Elder Maxson bringing you back is a big deal, because it showed us that he means it when he says we’re just any other soldiers. Some of us will be more than that someday, too. We’ll be exceptional soldiers, like Sentinel Kostin was, or like you are. Or like your son is going to be.”

Knight-Sergeant Shulz saluted and excused herself, leaving Danse in the deafening silence of his own thoughts. A young non-commissioned officer had said that he was a great soldier… debatable at best. That Shaun would become a great soldier… well, that was so obvious one would have to be blind not to see it. That his husband had been a great soldier… of course it was true. Anthony was hero and protector to so many, to a degree that after the Institute fell hopefuls from all over the Commonwealth had flocked to the Brotherhood for recruitment because they wanted to be like him. (Proctor Teagan had supplied this info, while also laughing off how many were simply not fit to be trained in the end.)

Danse sat back down at the foot of Anthony’s grave, and for the first time in years he had the impulse to ask questions of his dead husband. It had taken awhile for him to lose that particular habit, but now it seemed to have sprung back up. He wished he could have Anthony’s input, his opinions, even just to tell Danse how handsome he was even though it probably wasn’t true. The pain was trickling back from where he’d hidden it somewhere, and it reminded him of what Ingram said about how her legs hurt even though they weren’t there anymore.

He forced himself to finish his breakfast before heading to logistics. Danse still wasn’t fit for field duty, after all, so this was temporarily his assigned post. It meant he moved around crates of supplies and supplemented the load of Knight-Captain Gavil’s paperwork - logically, Danse knew that this really was an important job. The more irrational parts of his brain, on the other hand, saw to it that he was constantly putting himself down for not just getting over it already so he could return to the field.

It didn’t help that Danse had never done well with mandatory medical anything. No matter how much Cade said otherwise, it always felt like he was being punished for not performing at his best. This notion had returned with a vengeance now that he was finally back with the Brotherhood. He wondered often whether this had roots in logic or if it was simply another shade of the mental illness clouding his mind.


	10. Prodigy

“If you can’t return to a normal sleep schedule in the next couple of weeks, we may have to try something drastic,” Cade muttered as he scribbled across his clipboard. “That’ll make it two months, now, and I don’t want to keep loading you up on sleeping pills.”

“Is it a symptom of stress? The first time I had this problem was when I was new to my position.”

“That’s probably it,” the CMO agreed. They both paused at the sound of footsteps. “Hold on, I’ll go see what this is real quick…”

Maxson sat in the chair of the exam room even though he didn’t think he’d have to wait more than a couple minutes - or at least he thought that until he heard what was going on.

“Kostin, this is the third time this week, why are you here?”

“I keep throwing up and I can’t sleep. Sometimes I just get shaky for no reason. I think I’m sick.”

Cade sighed. “Alright, go sit on the table and I’ll look you over.” Maxson got back up and move to the doorway. He knew, logically, that he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but something about this intrigued him. “Tell me about the shaking. Are you thinking about anything in particular when it starts happening?”

“Yeah, I guess. People are always looking at me. At first I thought it’s just because I’m new, but I’m not new anymore and they still do it. Nobody looks at the other aspirants the same way. It’s just me, they’re always staring, even though I don’t know who any of them are. And I heard one time in the mess these two DIs talking, they were both watching me and saying things like ‘he’s better than the rest of them, he could put us all out of a job if he’s anything like Kostin.’ That was a couple days ago.”

“Alright, is that when you started vomiting at random?”

“Yeah, I think so. I think… everyone looks at me and sees my dad instead. I’m scared that when I get out of boot camp my other dad’s going to do that too, and you know what I love my dad and I miss him but nobody knows that I’m not him, they think I’m going to find another Institute and burn it down all on my own like he did and do all this stuff and save settlements and-”

“Aspirant, stop,” Cade ordered. “Take a deep breath. Good, now take another one.”

“Okay, now what?”

“You’re having panic attacks.”

“…oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ First of all, and this is going to be annoying after everything you just said about being compared to him, your dad had panic attacks, too, just like yours with the shaking and vomiting. So now you at least know what’s going on. You’re not physically ill. Second of all, and this is the sucky part, there’s really nothing you can do about that except get used to it. People are always going to think and say those things and nothing’s going to stop them. There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing I can do about it. You look a lot like Anthony and that isn’t going to change. People have high expectations of you. But here’s the good news: you’re perfectly capable of meeting those expectations. You’re very smart, you learn quickly. All the best officers will want to sponsor you when you graduate from basic. So learn to accept this, and then you can own it. You don’t have to do everything that Anthony did, there are other ways for you to achieve greatness. You’re doing very well right now as it is, so don’t sweat it.”

“Yes, sir.” Kostin didn’t sound convinced.

“You’re doing fine, kid. Like I said, you can do this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Here, drink about a third of this can of water. You can sit for fifteen minutes, then go back to your training.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Cade reappeared and Maxson motioned for him to close the door. “That aspirant is having panic attacks.”

“He is. I don’t know why you’re concerned by that, Elder, every aspirant has at least one before they get out of boot camp.”

“Is Kostin a prodigy or is he being forced into the role by his superiors?” Maxson wondered.

“I think it’s some combination of the two, actually. It’s unavoidable, he’s a dead ringer for him and nobody can see past that. Why?”

Maxson remembered, so long ago, being in that position. His father, his father’s father, his father’s father’s father, and so on, all great leaders. Everyone forcing him into that same mold, even his own mother. He knew exactly how it felt to be a young man, a child even, being informed that he was the next great savior of the Brotherhood of Steel and failure was simply inconceivable.

“When he graduates, I’m going to sponsor him,” Maxson decided.

“You came here today with stress-induced insomnia, Elder, and now you’re considering adding another source of strain.”

“I have subordinates who can alleviate some of the bureaucratic duties. It seems that Kostin will require a type of mentoring and guidance that my officers may not be capable of offering him.”

“Obviously I can’t stop you, but I don’t know if it’s what he needs. If you sponsor him, don’t you think that’ll pressure him more? All those expectations and now the Elder will be mentoring him. He’ll have a nervous breakdown.”

“Do you doubt my teaching abilities, Dominic?” he asked. The deliberate use of the knight-captain’s first name was to show that he wasn’t being rhetorical, but genuinely asking.

Cade frowned a little, then sighed. “I don’t. I’m just worried for the mental health of my patient.”

“You mentioned the pressures of greatness that are on Kostin. Why would I not be the best person to instruct him on how to cope with those pressures?”

“Good point. Have you sponsored an initiate before, though?”

“No, but I’ve seen how it’s done and I have plenty of ideas about it. I’ll ask Kells for pointers as well.”

“That’s probably a good idea. Here’s my question, though, ignoring so many other questions this raises: an initiate’s sponsor grooms them to one area or another. You’re not a field scribe, so you can’t groom him to be a field scribe. You’re not a lancer, so you can’t groom him to be a lancer. What are you going to make him into? He’s not a Maxson or an experienced field officer, so you can’t groom him to become an Elder.”

Maxson thought about it for all of two seconds before he had an answer. “I’m not going to groom him to become anything. I’m going to teach him that the path he follows is his own choice. I don’t see the point in forcing his hand when he has so much obvious potential for so many things. How he uses that potential is up to him. And you’re absolutely right, any other sponsor would groom him. That’s not what I will be doing. In ten weeks, when he’s an initiate, he’s going to pursue a career path and hone the skills appropriate to it, and I’ll direct him accordingly.”


	11. Surprises

“Afternoon, Paladin. What unhealthy coping mechanisms have you discovered in the last week?”

“No new ones. I still eat breakfast in the graveyard.”

“You need to stop doing that,” Cade scolded him. “What do you think Anthony would say if he saw you like this, hm?”

“He would ask me how Shaun’s training is going and then tell me that I drink too much.”

“Yes, probably, but don’t you think he’d be unhappy with you for not moving on with your life?”

“His remains were interred here. I was unable to properly mourn him until just two months ago. And no, he would never lack understanding on this issue, because his first spouse died right in front of him. He would tell me to take all the time that I need to heal.”

“Fine, then  _ I’ll _ tell you to get on with your life. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but the more you obsess over this the longer it’s going to be until you’re mentally sound.”

“Knight-Captain, I’m choosing to be honest now… there’s a conclusion that I’ve been trying not to draw about myself recently.”

“Go on.”

“I don’t believe, due to both mental and physical factors, that I’ll ever be fit to return to my original post as a field officer. Should I recover mentally, it may only be possible for me to accept a position behind a desk or as a training officer. I don’t trust myself enough anymore to believe I would be effective as a leader during field ops.”

Danse watched Cade nod slowly. “I see. Actually I think it’s good that you realized this on your own, because I didn’t want to suggest it to you myself. It’s better for it to be your idea.”

“You were never going to approve my return to the field?”

“Probably not. You’re aging, you’re mentally ill. We have plenty of young officers to lead field ops. But, I also agree with the other part of what you said - your experience is still invaluable, and you’d be an excellent training officer and tactical advisor. And there’s still plenty of prestige to retiring from the field, not everyone lives long enough to do it after all. I’m sure you’ve already heard about this, but Star Paladin Brandis was killed on an op during his final year as a field officer. Now, since you’ve come to this decision, as soon as it’s formally put on paper you’ll be off medical restrictions and be allowed to start your new post.”

“Outstanding.” Danse switched tracks. “Please at least tell me he’s graduating tonight with the others.”

Cade started laughing. “He’s graduating, alright. Just wait until you see who’s sponsoring him.”

“Why?”

“No, I’m not going to spoil the surprise.”

The rest of his psych eval was boring and tedious like always. Afterwards, Danse idly roamed the airport, having no assignments for the day. He watched the older squires running around in insanity, yammering on to each other about who they wanted to sponsor them when they graduated to their Initiate ranks that night.

“I asked for Proctor Ingram! Then I can get to do all the power armor stuff!” one fourteen-year-old boy announced.

“I want Knight-Captain Rhys, he gets all the cool missions to kill ghouls and shit in the Institute crater,” a girl the same age replied.

“Guys, shhh!” a second boy hissed. “There’s a paladin right over there!”

Danse came over to them and they stood to attention.

“At ease. What are you working on, graduates?”

“Making sure the tarmac is clean for the promotion ceremony.” A wall of sandbags had been built and advanced gradually over the time Danse was gone, steadily driving the ocean back to reveal the landing strips for pre-war commercial aircraft, which by now were completely cleared as a parade ground. “Paladin Chandler told us it’s important, then our new uniforms won’t just get dirty right away.”

Danse nodded - the real reason was to keep them out of trouble for the day, but they didn’t need to know that. “It’s not guaranteed you’ll receive the officer you requested.”

“Well… yeah, we know that,” the girl huffed. “But we can still want things. There’s no protocol against that, right?”

For the first time in his life, Danse was suddenly and acutely horrified by the state of the world. True, the Commonwealth was far better off than it was when he first arrived here twelve years ago, but they were still desperate enough to train children for war. These three practically learned to walk with a milk bottle in one hand and a laser rifle in the other. He’d simply never noticed before, because now he had the vision of experience. His own son grew up fishing and reading comics and drawing pictures on old notebook paper.

Which drew him to the thought of what Shaun would look like now. Danse hadn’t seen his eighteen year old son except in passing glances since the aspirant training course began, and he questioned whether he should’ve let Shaun do this at all. What had become of his excitable, sweet boy? He panicked.

“As you were,” Danse told the three of them, then immediately left and caught the next vertibird up to the  _ Prydwen. _

In his quarters, Danse did the exact opposite of what he probably should’ve done and poured himself a triple of vodka. He downed the whole thing without stopping. There was still a few hours before the promotion ceremony, so it’d be long worn off by then, but he needed to slow down his brain. Lying back on his mattress, Danse closed his eyes and just breathed for a second as he felt the alcohol soak into his body. He could probably stay here and refresh more of his knowledge by skimming a tactical manual while he waited; he could still be productive if he was motivated enough.

Danse was not, as it turned out, motivated enough. He spent the next hour drinking intermittently, not bothering with a shot glass and instead opting to take swigs straight from the bottle. He didn’t know exactly what happened afterwards, but he could safely guess that he laid down to cry for awhile because when he woke up to pounding on his door he was lying on the metal decking and his face was itchy.

Danse didn’t stop long enough to think about the state of himself before getting up to open the door. Thankfully, it was Haylen, who’d seen him looking far worse than this, so he didn’t have to be embarrassed.

“Come in.” He rubbed his eyes as she closed the door behind her, and then noticed her insignia: “Senior scribe? How long?”

“Four and a half years,” she smiled. She offered a hug and he accepted. “It’s been too long, where’ve you been hiding?”

“The Island…” He let go and motioned for her to sit. “I don’t want to burden you with my emotional baggage the second you see me again after eight years, but I came to a difficult decision this morning regarding my career.”

“What?”

He sighed, swapping out his flight suit for his dark fatigues before answering. “I’m not returning to the field. I’ll be riding a desk as soon as the paperwork goes through… I’m too old, too out of shape, and mentally… there are better choices than me to lead teams into dangerous situations.”

“I don’t blame you,” Haylen answered. It was a little surprising. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re back at all. I would’ve come to see you sooner, but I was busy with missions and my son is about to start school in Diamond City-”

“Son?”

“Yeah, Avery.” She smiled. “Before you ask, yes, Rhys is his father.”

“Did you get married?”

“We didn’t have time… we still don’t. There’s a lot going on in our patrol area. Once things calm down, though, we will. Hey, speaking of that, how’s Shaun? I heard he’s here, too.”

“He’s graduating tonight. I haven’t seen him since he started training and… I’m feeling anxious about it. Basic changes you, I’m worried I won’t know who he is when I see him again tonight.”

“Maybe it changed him for the better,” Haylen shrugged. “Avery wants to be a squire in five years when he’s old enough. We told him he can as long as he already knows how to read and do math first, that way the training will be at least a little easier.”

“What’s Avery like?”

“He’s here, would you like to meet him? I’ve told him stories about you, he knows who you are.”

Danse would actually love to meet her young son. “Alright.”

He finished tying his boots and out of habit slung Righteous Authority across his back, then followed her down to the airport. They found Avery riding around on Rhys’ shoulders, slapping his palms on the armored helmet and giggling when it clanged and his father started swearing.

“If you don’t stop that I won’t give you rides anymore, Aves!” Rhys shouted, plucking his son from his shoulders. Then he saluted, metal banging on metal. “Paladin.”

Danse saluted back. “Knight-Captain. It’s been too long.”

Avery ran right up to him and also saluted: “Hi! I’m Avery! That’s my dad!”

“Greetings, Squire. I’m aware that he’s your dad, he used to serve under my command several years ago.”

“Cool! What’s your name?”

“I’m Paladin Danse.”

“Wow, really?” Avery saluted again, clearly trying to stand to attention but not knowing exactly how. “Ad victoriam, Paladin!”

“Ad victoriam, Squire. As you were.”

Avery reminded him a lot of when Shaun was younger, and that made him start to get nervous again. Who did his son get made into in the last four months? Would Danse even recognize him anymore?

Danse ate a quick dinner with his former subordinates and their child, then got into formation alongside everyone else in preparation for the promotion ceremony. He thought maybe he should’ve been wearing one of his flight suits instead of his Brotherhood fatigues, but he wasn’t a field officer anymore and would likely no longer be wearing power armor, so it stood to reason that he would no longer wear flight suits, either.

Paladin-Commander Schwarzwelder approached him briefly: “Paladin, I’ve been told to inform you that the paperwork has been filed for your position transfer, I’m announcing it with the other promotions. Just so you’re not surprised when it happens.”

“Thank you, sir.” Danse saluted.

Like always, it went in ascending order, so it was first announced “the following Squires are being promoted to the rank of Initiate…” followed by their name, and each ran forward when they were called to stand to attention and receive their new uniforms. The officer sponsoring them presented them with this uniform, sometimes two or even three Initiates per officer.

Danse’s guts tied themselves into balls when it was time for the aspirants.

Paladin-Commander Schwarzwelder dismissed the first group, then: “The following Aspirants are being promoted to the rank of Initiate: Elizabeth Bently, Tomazs Brukowski, Frank Dougan, Gregory Farnham, Levi Fuller, Hanna Gosling, Laura Hawkes, Shaun Kostin, Allyssa Lambert, Zoey McDermott, Brent Miller, Max Oslo, Richard Tarr, Eugene Vargas, Christina Worthington. Bently and Farnham will be sponsored by Proctor Teagan.” As Schwarzwelder spoke, the sponsoring officers began approaching to give out uniforms to their charges. “Brukowski will be sponsored by Lancer-Sergeant Turner. Dougan and Gosling will be sponsored by Head Scribe Neriah. Fuller and Miller will be sponsored by Knight-Captain Patel. Hawkes will be sponsored by Knight-Captain Cade. Lambert and Tarr will be sponsored by Knight-Captain Rhys. McDermott will be sponsored by Lancer-Sergeant Jones.”

Danse frowned to himself - did Shaun get skipped?

The paladin-commander continued as normal. “Oslo and Vargas will be sponsored by Paladin Keele. Worthington will be sponsored by Lancer-Sergeant LaFey.” Shaun shifted and looked nervous at his name not being called for a sponsorship. Danse was feeling the same apprehension when Paladin-Commander Schwarzwelder looked up from the list and at Elder Maxson: “Excuse me sir, but I believe there’s a typo here…”

Maxson marched over, unimpressed, and looked: “No, there’s no typo. Announce it like the others.”

Both of Schwarzwelder’s eyebrows raised comically high on his forehead, and what he said next made it impossible for Danse to breathe for several seconds. “Kostin will be… will be sponsored by Elder Maxson.”

Danse couldn’t stop himself from gawking. Shaun, to his great credit, kept standing perfectly to attention even though he clearly wanted to pass out from the shock right there in front of everyone. Maxson, conversely, presented Shaun with a hooded black flight suit and shook his hand like all the other sponsoring officers had done with their assigned initiates.

The newly-graduated initiates were dismissed and the promotion ceremony continued without further incident. Rhys was finally promoted to Paladin, which Danse suspected he’d been waiting on for a long time.

And then there was this: “The following Paladins are being promoted to the rank of Star Paladin: Franklin Chandler, Jacob Danse, Enrique Rodriguez.”

Danse made his way to the front of the formation with the other two, not prepared for this. Apparently whatever his desk job was going to be demanded a higher rank. Kells shook all their hands and Schwarzwelder gave them new rank insignias to be sewn to their fatigues. Back in formation again after, there were no more promotions to be given, so honorifics and medals were announced next. Four of the twenty eight former squires and two of the fifteen former aspirants were called up to show they were graduating with honors - Shaun, naturally, was one of them. Danse thought his son was probably extremely overwhelmed by now, but Shaun still accepted the small strip of gold cloth that would be sewn to his fatigues over his rank insignia with reasonable calm.

Finally, they were dismissed. Danse shuffled his way through the horde of soldiers when the formation broke up, looking for his son. He found Shaun with Maxson, which made sense.

“Elder,” Shaun addressed him, saluting. “May I ask why-”

“I’ve taken an interest in you,” Maxson answered stiffly, not even letting Shaun finish. “Other officers’ skill-sets are inappropriate to help you realize your full potential. We can discuss it further tomorrow, there are more important people than me who currently seek your attention, Initiate.” Maxson nodded to Danse.

Shaun looked over and his face split into a huge, excited grin. He flung himself at Danse for a hug. “DAD I GRADUATED!”

Danse couldn’t help himself; he started to laugh, mainly from relief. Shaun still seemed to be Shaun in all the ways that mattered personality-wise. “Yes, I saw. I’m extremely proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself as well. When I was an aspirant I didn’t graduate with honors.”

“So what happens now?”

“Tomorrow you’ll go to Teagan and be issued a weapon. You get the rest of the day off. After that you start your individual training with your sponsor and you’ll be assigned to a combat unit for field missions as well. In approximately one year, you’ll graduate to Knight.”

They began walking toward the aspirant barracks so that Shaun’s stuff could be moved to his new bunk. Shaun waited for them to be out of earshot of Maxson before finally asking: “Why do you think he picked me?”

“Honestly, I can’t be sure. Elder Maxson thinks almost exclusively in tactics, so there’s a strong motive behind it… but I don’t know as I’d be able to guess. He’ll certainly have plenty to teach you.”

“Um… dad, he scares me. He didn’t used to when I first got here, but all the other aspirants told stories about him that they heard and-”

“I guarantee whatever you’ve heard about him is untrue,” Danse interrupted. “He’s an extremely intelligent and capable leader, and you have no reason to fear him now that he’s reached an understanding with the idea of synths existing.” He tried not to sound bitter. Shaun’s perception didn’t need to be further colored by his old grudges. “Why are you afraid of him?”

“They grew his kids in a lab somewhere and he almost got eaten by a deathclaw, but he was too horrible so the deathclaw choked to death when it tried to swallow.”

Danse rolled his eyes. “Elder Maxson doesn’t have any children. And he was severely maimed by a deathclaw, the reason he survived was because he was quick enough to stab it through the mouth. The skull is weak enough there to be breached by a combat knife if thrust with enough force. It’s simple physics and has nothing to do with your qualities as a person.”

“He does have kids, Tina said so! They just live somewhere else, outside the Commonwealth.”

“Shaun, you’ve just graduated to Initiate, please don’t be so gullible,” Danse scolds. “If he had children, why would they be kept somewhere else?”

“I don’t know, but they are. We even asked Jaeger once and he said it was true.”

That’s… intriguing. “And you’re certain Jaeger confirmed this.”

“Well, yeah, I was the one who asked,” Shaun shrugged. “The DI said his kids were born from test tubes, which doesn’t really make sense to me because I saw how small test tubes are when I was in the Institute and they’re way too tiny for a baby to grow in.”

They entered the aspirant barracks. Danse grabbed the rucksack and Shaun hefted the footlocker, then they left again and headed for the initiate barracks to find Shaun’s new bunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The promotion ceremony is modeled heavily after the ones I went through when I was a cadet in JROTC.


	12. Ghosts And Politics

The morning following the promotion ceremony, Maxson opted to abstain for breakfast in favor of speaking with his Lancer-Captain. He needed advice.

“Would an interruption at this moment cause something catastrophic to happen?”

“No, Elder, what do you need?”

“I require your expertise on a delicate subject.” They went up to his office and closed the door, then sat at his table to look at each across the mountains of paperwork. “You’ve sponsored Initiates before.”

“I have, but rarely,” Kells answered. He frowned thoughtfully. “You need to know what to expect?”

“Yes.”

“My charges were usually very intimidated by me, even when I offered praise for their hard work. Once or twice, an initiate became arrogant when I sponsored them. I reminded them that my sponsorship was a privilege and not a right, so they couldn’t go throwing their weight around.”

“Have you met Kostin?”

“No. The first time I’ve even seen him was last night.”

“I’ve met him twice so far. Suffice to say I don’t think fear or arrogance will be issues with him, he’s a very strange boy.” Maxson briefly explained his reasoning for sponsoring Kostin because he knew it would be the lancer-captain’s next question.

Kells was quiet for a moment, thinking. “It seems you’ve made the right decision, Elder. I don’t know exactly why you’re asking my advice when you seem to have things under control on your own.”

“I’ve never mentored an initiate before. This is an area of leadership that I’m not as familiar with.”

“It’s not always about informing them. You have to pay attention to them as well, and listen to their concerns. And if there’s an area they struggle with, instead of simply demanding they do better, you should ask them why they’re having trouble. I’ve seen other officers and NCOs make that mistake in the past.”

“I see, that sounds logical.”

They discussed Kostin for a few minutes more - Maxson couldn’t help making comparisons, even though he didn’t feel good about doing so. It was unavoidable, and reminded him of how much he’d hated it as a child, with everyone talking about his own father’s passing constantly. He made a decision on the spot that going forward he would never make these comparisons to the initiate’s face, because it would simply be unfair to do so.

Following his conversation with Kells, Maxson set about finding Kostin. Technically the new initiates had today off, but he needed to at least get to know his charge better. It seemed important. He found Kostin in the mess, having finished eating breakfast with three other initiates and now chattering away with them.

“…and he said if I rotate the ball bearings in the legs every month or so, they don’t wear out so unevenly and it’ll be longer before they need to be switched out. Also to not use cooking oil I find in the wasteland unless there’s no other choice, because it’s not the same kind of oil and it can fuck up the servos.”

“What about lasers? I heard your dad’s really good at those,” one female initiate queried.

“Yeah, he said tonight after dinner he’s going to teach me his personal set of mods. I already know how to build weapon mods, actually, but he could know something I don’t. I wish my other dad was still here too, he knew a lot about T-60 mods. I bet I could’ve learned a lot about it from him.”

Maxson approached the table and all four of them jumped to attention, saluting.

“At ease, soldiers. Kostin, seeing how despite being in the mess you’re not currently eating, I can think of more productive ways you could be spending your time.”

“It’s my day off, sir, and we don’t have anywhere else to hang out.”

“You can return to your downtime and your compatriots shortly, Initiate. Come.”

“Yes, sir.”

They left the mess and went to stand on the empty tarmac. “Initiate, I would like you to answer this honestly: what would you like your career to be?”

Kostin made a face. “I don’t know, sir. What are you going to train me as?”

“That’s up to you. From what I understand, you’re extremely talented, you could’ve been assigned to any number of areas of expertise for your training. Let me rephrase. What do you enjoy doing?”

“Lots of things, sir. I like to draw, but that’s not, um, it’s not really important for being a soldier. I like to build weapon mods out of scrap electronics, I like to read. Or actually I just like to learn stuff any way I can. I don’t really know what kind of soldier I want to be, Elder. I just want to do well.”

Maxson was very impressed by that, not only Kostin’s honesty but also the lack of intimidation. He was respectful, but not falling over himself about it like many low-ranking troops, and had an expectation of fairness - in return for his respect, he believed he should receive it back equally. In an eighteen year old boy who’d just graduated, these qualities were unusual.

“Incidentally, drawing can be utilized as an important skill. We make maps and diagrams for tactical maneuvers. What accuracy percentage do you score with an unmodified laser rifle?”

“Eighty eight point six percent, Elder. It’s better with a sight and a beam focuser, though.”

“I would expect as much, yes. What about your hand-to-hand combat?”

“Um… okay, so there’s _one_ thing I’m not good at… but I think my dad wasn’t good at it, either. I remember him saying something about it once when he was still alive.”

“Initiate Kostin.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Stop comparing yourself to your father.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll do better.”

Maxson noted that Kostin didn’t say _try_ to do better. What was it with this boy? “Good. I’m not holding you to the standard I held Sentinel Kostin to, because I didn’t hold him to the standard of anyone else either. I made the choice to sponsor you because I liked what I saw about _you,_ Initiate. I’m holding you to your own standard. You should do the same, and not let yourself live in his shadow.”

“Sir, can I ask a question about that?”

“Proceed.”

“Why was my dad promoted to Sentinel? Was it just because of blowing up the Institute?”

“No. He was an exemplary soldier and consistently inspired his brothers and sisters to be better. Other officers deferred to him, he was extremely dependable and maintained calm during difficult situations.”

“Well, sir…” Kostin took a deep breath and made eye contact. “I want to be all those things, too. Everyone compares me to him, and I don’t like it because they don’t see a difference. But when I came here, I already wanted to be like him. I know I’m not my dad. He was a great man, and I wish I could remember him better than I do. But I think I can be like him and still be me. Does that make sense, sir? I don’t want to be great just so people will say that I’m great. I want to be great because then I’m the best version of me, and since he was great I know I can be great, too.”

“That’s extremely profound, Initiate, and I approve your ambitions. Know that it takes years of experience and good reputation with your brothers and sisters to be honored with the title of Sentinel, however. You will have to attain the position of Paladin _at least_ before you can be a sentinel, and even then it’s not guaranteed. This is a very rare rank that few have achieved.”

“I know it won’t be easy, sir. But I’m going to do it anyway.”

Incredibly, Maxson didn’t doubt him. “Very well. Then my professional suggestion is that you learn to be a field officer. Learn everything you can about battlefield tactics and long-term strategy; you’ll need to excel in the use of power armor as well, and the deployment of a variety of weapons. But you also need to make friends. An officer with no support from his subordinates is worthless. All Sentinels in the past were well-loved by most, if not all, of their comrades-in-arms. You’ll have to earn their respect, their trust. Friends may confide things in you, and you’ll take those secrets to your grave if need be because to do otherwise is to betray them. Besides that, you also need to be able to trust yourself. This is a great pitfall for your surviving father. His mental health had begun to unravel long before he was wrongly expulsed from the Brotherhood, and he no longer believed himself capable of making those choices in the field.”

“Yes, sir, I understand. Will I learn all that stuff from you?”

“Not necessarily. Sometimes I may defer you to other officers. For instance, I’m not especially proficient in the use of power armor because I only rarely wear it. The position of power armor instructor now belongs to your father, though, so you’ll learn the nuances of its use and maintenance from him in the coming weeks. You should also use some of your free time learning about other areas of combat. Even if you’re never taught to pilot a vertibird, you should reach at least a basic understanding of their limitations so that you can incorporate them effectively during tactical situations. Spend time with Scribes as well, it’s inevitable you’ll aid them in their duties many times.”

“It kinda sounds like I don’t get to have free time this way, Elder.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No, sir. But I still want to spend time with my dad sometimes. He seems like he’s having a hard time still.”

“Understandable. So it seems the first thing you must learn is how to prioritize and schedule. Running around at random will get you nowhere.”

“Yes, sir. Should I do that now?”

“If you wish.” Maxson made a hand motion and they began walking off the tarmac. “In my experience, every officer devises a system of organization for themselves. Some start from scratch, others borrow the pieces they like from others’ systems. I’ll show you an example of how I prioritize my schedule, and you may adapt it as you see fit for your own use. I advise you speak with other officers as well, they may have tricks they use that you prefer over mine. After some amount of time, probably several months, you’ll have one figured out that’s your own. One warning I should give you is that even with a schedule, it’s never absolute. Things will interrupt your day that demand attention, and any other planned activities will need to be put on hold. This won’t usually become a major disruption until you become an NCO, as an initiate you have very few formal responsibilities.”

“Yes, sir. How do I know if it’s important enough to make me drop everything and run?”

“That’s often a judgment call. Generally speaking, if the issue will result in death, serious injury, or loss of resources, it can’t be ignored. As for less cut and dried issues, such as intelligence gathering, I often delegate those duties and decisions to subordinates and if it’s something extremely dire they’ll come bother me with it. You won’t have such a luxury when you start out, so if you experience extreme doubt on the issue, you ask the ranking officer to share his experience.”

At Kostin’s request, they paused briefly by the barracks so he could retrieve one of his notebooks and a pen. Maxson was completely unprepared for how absurdly impressive this initiate would be - around Danse, around his friends, he behaved excitably and generally seemed to act his age. When being addressed by Maxson, Kostin was all business, attentive and serious. And no matter how hard he’d resolved not to do so, all Maxson could think was how much Shaun seemed like Anthony when behaving this way. There were tiny differences - skin tone, height. Maxson remembered the sentinel being much paler than this boy, as well as taller and lankier. Kostin wasn’t such a stick-man as his father, he had some amount of obvious strength to his frame. Nobody could see this boy and mistake him for a ghost for more than a few seconds.

On the vertibird: “Elder, can I ask something?”

“You may.”

“Um, do you have kids that were grown in beakers somewhere?”

“Ignoring how inappropriate that question is, Initiate, why do you need to know?”

“My friends talk about it sometimes, I asked Star Paladin Jaeger once and he said you did. I don’t remember where I first heard it. But then my dad said it’s not true. I was just, um, I was just wondering, that’s all.”

Maxson decided he couldn’t really fault the initiate for simple curiosity. “I do. I’m told they’re approaching seven years old. I’ve never met them.”

“Why, sir?”

“Another thing you’ll find yourself pressed to study will be the politics of the Brotherhood as a whole. There are other chapters, in other locations on the continent. High Command, the High Elders, live on the West Coast. They’re often unreasonable in their demands, expecting results where none can be offered. I’ve been unable to find a suitable mate, for a multitude of reasons that I won’t explain to you at this time, but High Command insisted I have children. They were cultivated with pre-war laboratory equipment and reside with the Mojave Chapter.”

“What are their names, sir?”

“Sylvia and Jonathan.”

“Doesn’t it make you sad that you never got to meet them?” Shaun asked, looking distressed.

“I will meet them soon. Within the year they’ll be brought here to the Commonwealth so they can acclimate to this environment before they become Squires.” Maxson shook his head. “This topic is irrelevant to your training, Initiate.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Can I ask something else, please?”

Why was Kostin always such a bottomless pit of questions? “Providing it’s not in regards to my offspring or personal life.”

“It’s not, sir. Um. When I learn to use power armor… can I get the set my dad had? If it wasn’t already issued to someone else?”

“I’ll assume you’re referring to Sentinel Kostin. His power armor was destroyed during the explosion that ended his life, Initiate. From the report I saw at the time, I was under the impression most of the armor plating became irreparably warped or had fused to the frame. The arm and boot from the left side were salvaged and returned to circulation, but it’s unlikely they’ll be issued to you when you graduate to Knight.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’m not who you should be asking about power armor anyway. You should speak with Ingram on this issue if you’re so concerned about it in the future.”

“Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maxson pressured to have children through IVF because the West Coast are bastards? It's more likely than you'd think lol... and yes they will be appearing later on.


	13. Discomforting Truths

Danse abandoned the stack of papers he’d been given this morning when his alarm went off - he’d initially set it with every intention of indulging in a nap, but was rudely forbidden that luxury by the fact that he’d been assigned his new post and now had bureaucratic obligations related to it. He had to sign for the distribution of power armor sets taken out of service, either those too damaged to be reliable in the field or older models that had been phased out in years prior, and marked as “training use only.” He also had to look through the scheduling for Initiate training, which would start next week, as well as signing the requisition form to receive a new set himself tomorrow so he’d have time to re-acclimate.

All but that last one could wait, though, because at the current moment in time Danse needed to meet with his son for dinner. He didn’t think there was anything he could possibly teach Shaun about weapons mods, but Shaun had asked, so he took Righteous Authority down to the airport with him. Technically speaking, he should eat in the officers’ mess, but he wanted to spend time with his son and Shaun couldn’t have meals anywhere but the enlisted mess.

“What are these?” Danse asked, sitting at the table with his tray and nodding to the pile of books.

Shaun swallowed a monstrous gulp of the steak he’d been chewing. “I got them from Proctor Quinlan, he said I can only borrow six at once. It’s all stuff that Elder Maxson said I have to know.”

“Today was supposed to be your day off and he’s overburdening you with work already?”

“Um, no, not really. I like to read anyway. Also I asked him about it and he said he does have kids.”

Danse was surprised to learn this, but that wasn’t a pressing issue. “Judging by the stack of reading material and everything you’ve said, am I right to assume you spent the entire day being productive instead of enjoying your downtime?”

“Not the whole day, just most of it,” Shaun shrugged, taking another bite of steak. “I learned how to schedule today, though. That way I’ll be able to, um, prioritize. I can balance out all the stuff I have to learn and when I should relax during free time.”

Danse took a look at the spines of the books -  _Leadership And You! Methods Of Promoting A Successful Workplace_ ,  _Specifications And Technical Information: T-45d Model Powered Infantry Armor_ , _ Specifications And Technical Information: T-51b Model Powered Infantry Armor_,  _Specifications And Technical Information: T-60 Model Powered Infantry Armor_ , _ U.S. Army Officer Training Manual_, _U.S. Army Field Operations: Small Unit Tactics_. The power armor specs were all stamped in red with **PROPERTY OF WEST TEK RESEARCH INDUSTRIES**.

“You realize I’ll be teaching you all of these next week?”

“No, you’re teaching me how to wear it, I need to know the theory behind it too. Then later when I’m an officer if someone has questions I can give better answers.”

“And Elder Maxson is teaching you to be a field officer? Shaun, he hasn’t been a field officer himself in almost thirteen years.”

“No, that’s not what I’m being trained for.”

“What, then?”

“I’m going to be a sentinel like dad was.”

Danse frowned. “I’m sure it doesn’t work that way. The most exemplary soldiers can be named Sentinel, and only after years of-”

“Dad,” Shaun interrupted, looking very serious and mildly annoyed. Danse had never seen this expression on him before and it was discomforting. “I know how it works, okay? Elder Maxson explained it to me, and I _am_ going to be an exemplary soldier. First I’m going to be a field officer. But I have to know a lot more stuff than most field officers if I’m going to do this. Please give back my books.”

“Alright. I apologize, I wasn’t trying to doubt you.”

“I know.” Shaun finished his steak and tore open a box of Fancy Lad’s. “You look scared.”

“Sentinels tend not to live very long.”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to screw up like the last two did. I’m not going after a super mutant master and its horde with just a squad, and I’m not going to fire a Fat Man at a target that’s two feet from my face.”

It was glaringly obvious at that moment that in four months Shaun had truly been stamped into the mold of “Brotherhood soldier.” Danse felt sick realizing it. Shaun wanted to be Anthony, but in all the wrong ways. The idea of his son in that armor, with that paint job, that insignia… to be named Sentinel was to be essentially handed a notice of execution. And this was what Shaun wanted for himself.

“You’ve asked Maxson for a rank that gets you sent to your death,” Danse choked out. “Do you realize that?”

“I got that procedure done so that I don’t have to be a kid anymore, dad. Why are you still trying to make me be one?” Shaun looked hurt as he asked it. “Plus I’m getting all this training for power armor and stuff so that I _don’t_ die. Most soldiers come back.”

“But some don’t,” Danse snapped. “And you can be exceptionally trained in every conceivable area of combat but still get killed in a moment of pure bad luck. What makes you think you’re exempt?”

“I don’t think I’m exempt. The Commonwealth is a lot safer now, though. It’s way less dangerous than when dad got me out of the Institute. I won’t have a rotation in the Capital Wasteland until I’m at least an NCO, and that’ll only be for a year.”

Danse ignored his tray of food in favor of lighting a cigarette. He didn’t know what to say to any of that, especially the part about Shaun being stationed in the Capital Wasteland, which in the decades the Brotherhood had been there was still a pit of lethal insanity. Finally he settled with a random fact, because it was the only thing he could come up with that wouldn’t sound absolutely hysterical.

“The ambient radioactivity is higher in Virginia than it is in Massachusetts.”

“So?”

“If you’re stationed there as a knight-sergeant or knight-captain your subordinates will be sick more often.”

“There are medical officers for that. And I know how to avoid hot-spots already, plus our suits have detectors.” Shaun made a face. “If you didn’t want me to be a soldier, then why did you let me join?”

“I wasn’t thinking especially hard about it at the time. And Anton-”

“Is dead, dad. He’s been dead for a long time. Look, it sucks, I miss him too, but I still wanna do stuff with my life. This is something I want to do. Why are you trying to stop me?”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“I’m not gonna. Plus I can’t die of radiation poisoning. So if my armor takes a mini-nuke, I’ll probably just get mad that it’s all bent out of shape and ruined.”

“Don’t make jokes about that.”

“I’m not… wouldn’t you be mad about it?”

“The level of disrespect you’re showing right now is quite frankly astounding, Shaun. You’re being extremely impertinent in your descriptions of that scenario.”

“Yeah I guess, but at least I’m not just sitting around being sad all the time. Dad look, okay, it’s been a really long time. Can’t you just let him be dead? It hurts when you talk about him the way you do. Sometimes I think you’re still waiting for him to come back. But he isn’t going to. I wish you would just let him be dead.”

Danse smoked his cigarette down to the filter and then lit a second one as a means of stalling so he could come up with a reply. Shaun, on the other hand, was happily chowing down on a snack cake as if he didn’t just deliver a crushing emotional blow against his father. Danse already knew he’d finish that bottle of vodka tonight before going to sleep after this.

Eventually he elected not to continue that conversation at all, getting up to throw away his food despite having not taken a single bite off his tray. “You asked to review laser rifle mods?”

“Yeah.” Shaun crammed the last two snack cakes into his mouth at once and jumped up from his chair, unslinging his weapon from his back. “I know a lot, but you probably still know more than I do.”

As it turned out, Danse didn’t. He disassembled Righteous Authority across the surface of a workbench and explained a few things, but from the way Shaun nodded along he could see his son already understood everything. Danse put his weapon back together after just a few minutes and handed over his tools so he could watch Shaun perform a set of upgrades. A reflex sight and a beam focuser, among other things, were added, and Danse didn’t know how to feel about that. It was possible Shaun was constructing these mods because of personal choice or because that’s what he saw on Righteous Authority… but the fact remained that Righteous Authority had been equipped with its current loadout by Anthony.

Forty minutes later, one thing remained.

“What are you naming your weapon?”

“Does it have to be named?”

“Many people name their rifles. It’s a sign of the respect you have for it. This will be your closest companion in the field, a tool that enables you to stay alive. It protects you and you should care for it properly. Elder Maxson’s weapon of choice is a Gatling laser that he named Final Judgment. Lancers often name their birds. I’ve heard of a few brothers and sisters going so far as to name their power armor as well. So yes, yours has to be named. Call it by something and make it your own.”

Shaun thought for a second, frowning deeply. “Guardian.”

“Why that word?”

“It keeps me safe, right? And I’m going to use it to keep other people safe, too. My brothers and sisters, or people getting hassled by raiders.”

“In that case, I think it’s an excellent choice.”


	14. Ordering Chaos

Maxson was only halfway through his second coffee when there was a knock on his office door. “Enter,” he called without looking up from his current stack of red tape.

“I’m here for training, sir.”

Right, this was officially his first morning with Kostin. “Please sit, Initiate. Firstly, tell me what you see on this table.”

“Um… paperwork? Lots of it?”

“Yes and no. Tell me why we have paperwork so often as officers.”

“To keep track of stuff,” Kostin guessed, sounding a little uncertain.

“It’s also to dispense information uniformly between soldiers. If I ask you for a report and you give it to me through word of mouth, I’ll interpret it in one way. Report the same facts to, for instance, Lancer-Captain Kells, and he’ll interpret it in a completely different way. On paper, both of us will receive the same information.”

“Oh. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Um. When do I start having to do paperwork, sir?”

“It won’t happen until you’re placed in a leadership position. For you, as a field officer, there won’t be quite as much as for those of us trapped behind tables. Instead of being faced with organizational tedium, you’ll be in charge of executing those tasks.”

“So when I’m out shooting mutants and stuff, it’s being organized. We’re taking disorder and fixing it.”

“Indeed. The removal of monstrous creatures such as deathclaws and super mutants is extremely important. We are, in a large sense, bringing order to chaos. However. Do you understand our overarching mission?”

“To save people?”

“Yes, but how?” At Kostin’s blank look, Maxson set down his papers and folded his hands on top of them. “By understanding why the world tore itself apart in the first place, and working to ensure it can never happen again. This is the other reason for all our paperwork and scheduling, Initiate. The acquisition and documentation of technology. Every laser rifle, every computer terminal, every mini-nuke. It must be tagged and catalogued. Aside from mission reports, this is the paperwork you’ll often be faced with as an officer. You’ll be required to document thoroughly all technological artifacts that you recover.”

Kostin eyed a stack of packets. “Can I look, sir?”

“Yes, but make an effort to keep them in order. The scribes have been working to prioritize them for me.”

The initiate began skimming one out loud: “Three haptic drives recovered, one injury due to ghoul activity, a set of power armor recovered… I have a question, sir.”

Of course he did. He always had questions. “In the future, Initiate, instead of announcing that you have a question for me, please just ask. It saves time.”

“Yes, sir. Um. I know this stuff is important, but aren’t there other officers who can look at it for you so that you can deal with all the  _ really _ important things? I mean, you said yesterday how you never have enough time for everything.”

“I don’t read those reports until it’s time for the quarterly operations overview that gets sent to High Command,” Maxson explained. “That type of report usually stays where it is until a scribe initiate files it for me. The ones I stay most up-to-date on are those pertaining to combat operations and the direct effects on personnel, such as individual medical reports. Research proposals from Scribes and certain mission parameters also pass through me for final approval before they can be undertaken.”

“And they tell you what’s going on with your kids, right?”

“I’m forced to ask, Initiate, why exactly are you so interested in my offspring?”

“I got stolen from my dad when I was a baby. I never even met him until I was ten, and… well, sir, it just kind of bugs me. Your kids were made in a lab and they never got to meet you, either. That’s kind of like how it happened for me, and I didn’t get to have my dad for very long before he died. So… um… I know I’m lowest man on the totem pole for you, but I just think maybe you shouldn’t do that. It seems like a really bad idea, sir. What if you die? Then your kids don’t get to have you anymore.”

Maxson, in a rare occurrence, was lost for words. Thankfully, it didn’t last terribly long. “Your concerns will be taken into consideration, Initiate.”

Kostin seemed startled to hear that. “Really? Okay! Um. I mean, thank you sir.”

He had no intention of making his new student leaf through paperwork with him for the entire ninety minutes they had together this morning, though, and he needed a reason, any reason, to direct the conversation away from the children he’d been pressured to have by his superiors. Maxson stood up and indicated for Kostin to do so as well.

“Have you begun reading the material I suggested to you?”

“Yes, sir. I’m halfway through the officer training manual.”

“Halfway through.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In one night.”

“Yes, sir. I read really fast.”

They left his office and began slowly moving towards the rear of the ship. “Has your intellectual skill ever been measured?”

“I took one of those pre-war aptitude tests when I lived in Acadia because I was really bored one day and Faraday had one lying around. I didn’t even study for it first and got a perfect score.”

“And during your last day of training as an aspirant, what did your evaluation say?”

“Um, strength 6, perception 9, endurance 6, intelligence 10, agility 6. Then it said all my training stats for rifles and stuff. Also Star Paladin Jaeger said I need to eat less snack cakes.”

“Well, he’s correct. They hold no known nutritional value and you’re better off with Cram.”

“Yes, sir.”

They passed by Ingram issuing Danse a new suit of T-60 armor. Maxson was vaguely surprised when Kostin didn’t call out a greeting and kept marching; his new student was all business, focused on the task at hand. They moved up the stairs and found Head Scribe Neriah interacting with her own pupils, a group of bright-eyed and eager Initiates with notebooks in hand.

“Elder,” she acknowledged. “Can we do something for you?”

“I only came to request that at certain points Initiate Kostin may sit in on your lessons so that he can receive a well-rounded education. He has strong ambitions and it seems prudent that he understands the inner workings of how the Brotherhood operates for areas unrelated to combat.”

“Of course, Elder, he can observe whenever he likes as long as he’s not disruptive.”

“I won’t be disruptive, Head Scribe,” Kostin promised.

“Good. Is he sitting in today?”

“No, but he will soon. I’ll inform you in advance when this will take place. Thank you for your time, you may continue with your lesson now.”

“Of course, Elder.”

Much of the morning progressed like this. Maxson led Kostin to various officers outside the scope of his upcoming advanced combat training, always securing their cooperation in training him rather than demanding their involvement. Their final stop: Knight-Captain Cade.

“Elder, Initiate,” he nodded when they came in. “Kostin, show me your tags.”

Kostin immediately made a guilty face and pulled out a set that were clearly not regulation - one deactivated holotag and one stamped dog tag from the pre-war military. “I’m wearing mine too, Knight-Captain.”

“What did I tell you?”

“That if you saw me wearing them again you’d confiscate them, sir.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Wearing them, sir.”

“Well, at least I know I don’t have to check your hearing or your memory for lapses. Hand them over, kid.”

Kostin, obviously reluctantly, pulled the chain from his neck and set the tags into the palm of the CMO. Cade locked them in the top drawer of his desk. “You don’t get these back until you make Knight. You’re still a recruit, and recruits don’t get to start violating uniform regulations until  _ after _ they graduate.”

“Yes, Knight-Captain,” Kostin mumbled, looking absolutely dejected now.

“Alright. Now that that’s out of the way, what can I help you two with?”

Maxson briefly explained like he had the other few times. “It seems unlikely he’ll require formal medical training, but allowing him to observe will help prepare him for dealing with casualties in the field and help him understand not to make unrealistic demands for their recovery.”

“I see. Initiate, if I tell you to stand silently in a corner and watch without interfering, can you do it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Really. Because you kept wearing those tags after I told you to stop.”

“Well… that’s different, sir.”

“How so?”

“My dad wears the other tag around his neck, and the wedding ring too… isn’t that not allowed? But nobody stops him from doing it. Besides, um, Knight-Sergeant Shulz and her girlfriend wear each other’s holotags instead of their own, and Star Paladin Jaeger has the names of his wife and kids painted on his power armor, and I’ve seen like ten different soldiers who keep trophies on their tag chains or their armor or their guns. I don’t really know why this has to be different, because all I want to do is remember my dad.”

Cade shared a look with Maxson, who nodded. The CMO sighed in defeat. “Alright, you made a pretty good point, Initiate. You can have them back.”

Kostin smiled widely as the rusted ball chain was returned to him and subsequently tucked into the neck of his flight suit. It seemed it was becoming a trend for Maxson to be impressed by Kostin, either his attention to detail or this thoughtfulness or his ambition or any number of other character attributes. To pull a comprehensive argument like this one out of thin air was far from a widely-owned skill, and the ability to think on his feet like that would definitely serve Kostin well in many avenues of his future career.


	15. Medical Considerations

“What are you writing, dad?”

Danse startled and looked up as his son sat across from him with a tray. It reminded him that he should probably be eating, too, but he hadn’t touched his food.

“A briefing on the tactical environment of Far Harbor.”

“Why? Are we invading them?”

“No, scouting expeditions are being sent to Bath and Presque Isle. Apparently pre-war military documents uncovered in a national guard facility have indicated points of interest in those areas.”

“Cool. Maybe I’ll get to go once the scouts get back.”

“It’s entirely possible,” Danse allowed. “They usually take a year or more to complete, by which point you’ll have graduated to Knight.”

“I think you should eat, dad.”

“I will.”

“I think you should eat, dad,” Shaun repeated, more forcefully.

Danse raised his eyes from the paper, very pointedly took a bite from his tray, and then immediately went back to writing.  _ The wolf is a vicious pack animal that seems to be active during nighttime hours. May be encountered in groups of on average three to six animals. Sharp teeth, strong bodies, unable to penetrate power armor. Prone to carrying diseases. _ “Have they asked you to contribute to this briefing?”

“Nope. I kind of wish they did, though, I know a lot.” Shaun began inhaling his noodles and Cram. “Do you think there’th Vaultth over there?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. And I see no reason why there wouldn’t be, Vaults seem to be omnipresent across the continent. Why?”

Shaun had such an obviously difficult time swallowing that Danse was concerned he’d aspirate or start to choke. “Because dad came from one, I want to see what they’re like.”

“They’re… for lack of a better description, they’re quite creepy. Often there’s medical and scientific equipment present that can serve no clear purpose other than the torture and experimentation of its residents. Most of the time they’ve been long since emptied and reoccupied by outside parties such as mercenaries.”

“Oh.” Shaun stuffed another huge forkful of Cram into his mouth and all but swallowed it whole. “I still want to explore one someday.”

“Perhaps you will. Not all of them have been discovered and archived, and as far as I’ve read over a hundred were commissioned and at least partially completed at the time of the war.”

“Keep eating, dad,” Shaun ordered before gobbling the rest of his noodles.

Danse pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m working.”

“Yeah, but you still have to eat. Come on, start taking bites.”

“Shaun-”

“Will you just fucking do it, please?” his son demanded. “You take such bad care of yourself, the only difference is now I can report you to Cade for it. What would dad say?”

Danse groaned. “Not you too! Everyone needs to stop with that, trying to guilt me-”

“I’m not trying to guilt you, I’m trying to get you to remember that you’re supposed to actually have meals like normal people.”

Irritated, he took a bite of his soup and immediately turned back to the briefing. While scribbling down details, he was careful not to disturb the papers - underneath the form for reporting intelligence was a thin packet detailing his apparent high blood pressure issue that Cade found this morning. He drank too often and too heavily, he smoked almost two packs a day now, his new position was stressing him out. Danse was informed on no uncertain terms that if he didn’t change some things he ran the risk of all sorts of unpleasant conditions, up to and including death. The thing was Danse didn’t particularly care. If he was going to die, then so be it; he had no active desire to destroy himself, hadn’t in a long time, but there were still days occasionally where he wouldn’t mind not waking up. This had started happening almost the second he returned to the Brotherhood of Steel. Causation included, Shaun absolutely did not need to know about any of that.

But apparently Shaun was psychic. “Hey, Laura said you came to medical for something other than a psych eval today.”

“Laura?”

“Initiate Hawkes,” Shaun corrected himself, ears turning red. “Um, she’s one of my friends. But anyway, she’s sponsored by the CMO. She said she saw you there.”

“It was routine, and it’s also none of your business. And didn’t Arthur tell you to eat less snack cakes?”

“Oh. I mean, he did, but it’s not like I can get fat.”

“Ordinarily you’re exceptional at following orders,” Danse pointed out. “Why should this one be different?” He grudgingly took a third bite of soup to avoid another round of nagging.

“I don’t know, it’s just hard.”

“You’ve read twelve books in two weeks but find this difficult.”

“Yeah, it’s weird.” Shaun made a face. “Dad, you know I’m not stupid, right?”

“At what point did I imply I thought you were stupid?” he asked, confused.

“Why did you go to medical today?”

“I drink too much.” Danse pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and shook two out of the pack, handing one to his son. Apparently Shaun had picked up that habit during basic, and while he didn’t necessarily think it was the best thing he also knew he had no room to criticize. “It may cause health issues in the future.”

“It’s not already? Aren’t you like, old and stuff? I think that probably makes it worse.”

“I’m not discussing this further,” Danse snapped, his words riding on thin smoke. “And why are you having other Initiates spy on me?”

“She wasn’t spying, she’s my friend and she knows you’re my dad so she asked me about it…” Shaun looked around the mess, then jumped up from his seat and darted off somewhere. He returned shortly following with a female initiate about the same age. “Dad, this is my friend Laura.”

“Good evening, sir.”

“At ease, Initiate, no formalities for now,” Danse insisted. “You’re studying medicine?”

“Yes, si-yes. I’m going to be a field medic.”

“Normally that duty falls to Scribes.”

“But not always. And Scribes don’t go into firefights, Knight-Captain Cade told us it’s important to have medics in power armor to get wounded comrades to safety.”

“In the future, I’d appreciate you not reporting my medical exams to my son,” Danse informed her.

“Oh. I’m sorry, sir.”

“You should still take better care of yourself, dad,” Shaun mumbled, offering the last snack cake to his fellow recruit. “I don’t want you to get sick or something.”

Danse took a drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke to the side. “Illness is relatively rare in synths,” he pointed out.

“Yeah but it still happens…”

“I read a report my second day of training,” Initiate Hawkes offered quietly. “There was statistical data collected by Scribes about the medical differences between human soldiers and synth soldiers. The conclusion at the end said that synths thought they got sick less often but it’s actually about the same, they just isolated themselves a lot because people don’t like them so they didn’t have contact with sick people. So, you can still get sick, sir. Just like everyone else.”

Danse raised his eyebrows. “I’ll take that into consideration in the future,” he answered, having no intention to do so.


	16. Overcome Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And introducing: Shaun Matthew Antonovich Kostin.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I asked Proctor Ingram about the recovered pieces of power armor… she said they weren’t issued to anyone because she didn’t know what to do with them. They’re still in storage waiting to get fixed.” Shaun swallowed. He didn’t really know how to talk about this, because he was mostly over what happened all the way back then but right now it just… hurt. It was a tiny thing, a kind of stupid thing actually, and yet it was hurting him. Nobody took care of his dad’s armor. “Um. So I was just thinking maybe I can have it when I graduate. She said it’s not up to her, she just fixes stuff.”

Maxson nodded slowly, setting down the holotapes he’d been picking through. “I see. Then your next step is to speak with Proctor Teagan and see what he says.”

“Yes, sir. Um. But I also brought it up with my dad and he got really upset about it… so I just wanted some advice, I guess. Because he doesn’t like it. He actually yelled at me about it, which isn’t really a thing he does most of the time. So I was just wondering, um, do you think I shouldn’t keep asking to have it?”

“I think that’s a decision you need to make for yourself, Initiate,” Maxson answered after thinking it over for a second. “Consider the relationship you have with your father. Consider the relationship you have with your career and with yourself, and the one you had with Sentinel Kostin before he died. And ask yourself why you want those armor pieces so badly.”

“Yes, sir. Um. Um.” Shaun looked at his boots. He hated this, he wished he never asked. “I just. Um.”

“Don’t stutter, Initiate, just say what you’re thinking.”

“I still miss him sometimes,” Shaun explained, swallowing again. “And I think. Um. I think probably he’d let me have it if I asked. And he’d tell me everything he ever did with his armor, all the upgrades and stuff, and he’d ask me what I wanted to do, and then he’d help me do all my upgrades. I’m not great with power armor yet like I am with laser rifles, sir. So he’d probably want to help me do it. We’d do my armor together. And. I don’t have a lot to remember him with, so maybe it would help. Then I could feel close to him again. Um. I’m sorry, sir.”

Shaun breathed in hard through his nose. His eyes were leaking a little, from the corners, but he wasn’t really crying. He couldn’t ever cry in front of his officers, that’s just something you didn’t do, ever. Probably other people, people who didn’t have so much they had to do like he did, had cried in front of Maxson before. Shaun wouldn’t cry. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and swallowed everything, everything his dad had yelled at him last night about disrespect and getting killed in the field and _why are you being like this, Shaun, you didn’t used to do things like this._ He just didn’t know what to do with all that disappointment except swallow it. He didn’t even know why his dad got so mad about it.

“Initiate.”

“Yes, sir.” He coughed.

“Are you aware of the fact that my father was killed in service to the Brotherhood?”

“No, sir.”

“I was a similar age at the time to yours when Sentinel Kostin died. You have no obligation to apologize to me about this issue. Even when a loss isn’t fresh anymore, in some small way you’ll continue to be in mourning until the day you die. Don’t apologize and don’t feel guilty. There will be moments, hopefully only rarely, when you’re reminded of exactly how painful that loss is. But those moments also pass. If this is something you find necessary to honor his memory, then you should pursue it.”

Shaun nodded, finally looking up again. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“It’s interesting that your father saw fit to punish you for these feelings.”

“He really misses him. Um. For awhile it wasn’t so bad… after we got here it seems like he’s getting worse again. I don’t know what to do.”

“You refer him to the medical personnel… Cade has means to assist him on these issues. I’m concerned that you have a skewed perspective as well, so bear in mind going forward that you’re not at fault for this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now… I would like you to study these for the week.” Maxson finished pulling holotapes from a plastic box, stacking them and tying them up with yarn so they could be carried easily. “They should inform the after-action reports I gave you, since you asked for clarification in some areas.”

“Thank you, sir. Also can I get the book restriction lifted? Proctor Quinlan only lets me take six at a time so I have to go back there every few days, it’s kind of-” He wanted to say annoying, but that probably wouldn’t sound very good. “-inefficient.”

Maxson looked… sort of amused, for once. “Those restrictions were put in place by him, and for good reason. You’re more than welcome to argue your case further with the proctor but I have no say in the matter.”

“Oh.” The pocket watch in his flight suit went off a second later. He took the bundled holotapes. “I’ll bring them back as soon as I’m done with them, sir.”

“I expected as much. You’re dismissed, Initiate.”

Shaun saluted, then pulled up his hood and went down to the airport. He had just barely enough time to deposit the holotapes in his footlocker and grab his rifle before heading to the parade ground. The ten of them stood to attention in front of each set of power armor, rifle butts by their toes. Shaun reminded himself the way he did every morning - he wouldn’t be talking to his dad for the next two hours, he was taking orders from Star Paladin Danse. Not the same thing.

In Shaun’s training group, the initiates were a mix of former Aspirants and former Squires: Miller, Tarr, and Vargas had trained with him, but there was also Davis, Mitchell, West, Sebesta and Markos. And… Laura was in his group, too.

She always stood next to him, and Shaun liked how she did that. He liked her. He wanted her to like him, too. There were no girls his age at Acadia… of course there were no boys his age there, either, but there was especially no girls his age. It was still a little weird to see so many of them around him, all the time. A lot of them looked at him, not like how other people looked at him. He wanted Laura to look at him the way so many other girls did. She was already his friend. Maybe someday she’d look at him that way, too.

Danse arrived exactly on time like always, stomping heavily in his armor and carrying his helmet under his arm. Shaun was really jealous of his armor, because the initiates were stuck training in old beat-up versions that had broken HUDs or were a mix between T-45 and T-51 parts. He couldn’t wait to be fully trained, to wear his own set of T-60 plating and getting to do mods and upgrades.

They did muscle stretches first, making sure they were in good shape to climb inside their chassis. Shaun didn’t think people actually did these once they were done with training, because he’d seen tons of soldiers getting into their armor without stopping, but if it was part of training then he’d do it. Danse checked, like always, to make sure their flight suits were all zipped and they had the hoods pulled up right. Their rifles were set on the ground, they were each handed a fusion core, and they entered their suits.

Shaun wiggled his fingers as the HUD flashed to life inside the lenses, then shrugged his shoulders and shifted from foot to foot. Everything did what it was supposed to do, but the armor clearly didn’t like moving. Great. He was stuck with the one that had a corroded frame again. The chassis under the plates squealed a little as he bent to pick up his rifle.

The thing about power armor was that as much as Shaun wanted his own set, he also kind of hated wearing it. It was hot under his flight suit, especially against his back where the fusion core was, and there was pretty much no padding in the frames of the suits used for training so he always climbed out with at least ten new bruises. During downtime, when Danse stopped being Star Paladin and started being his dad again, Shaun had asked and his dad said it was a lot less uncomfortable when it was your very own suit.

Today’s exercise: climb a ladder wearing power armor.

“Sir, I have a question,” Shaun immediately tried.

“No you don’t, Initiate,” Danse answered flatly. “Sebesta, climb the ladder.”

She tried, but one of her arms was T-45 so she couldn’t raise her hand high enough. “I can’t, sir, my suit-”

“I’m aware of your suit. Go stand over there. Tarr, you’re up, climb the ladder.”

“But sir, I can’t even scratch my ass in this thing.”

“Vacate your suit, fifty push-ups for disrespecting an officer. Mitchell, go.”

“My leg is rusted out, Star Paladin…”

“Go stand with Sebesta. Miller, why do you think your brothers and sisters are all failing?”

“Because our suits are shit, sir.”

“Besides that. If your suits weren’t shit, would you be able to accomplish this task?”

“Yes, sir, I think so.”

“Sir, please can I just-”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Kostin. Fifty push-ups.”

Shaun made himself stay quiet instead of groaning, exiting his armor and getting into the front-leaning-rest position. Nobody would be able to climb the ladder - their suits would get in the way somehow. Even if that didn’t happen the armor was too heavy, they’d rip the ladder right off the wall if they tried. As he did his push-ups and thought about that, he figured out that Danse already knew those things. This training exercise wasn’t supposed to be completed, they were supposed to learn something else. His brain turned on - how could he climb a wall wearing power armor? By push-up 42, he had the answer.

“So far none of you has completed this task,” Danse remarked as Shaun climbed back into his suit. “Your arm movements are too restricted or your suits are defective. Now, observe. My suit offers almost complete range of motion in the shoulders and upper torso, and it’s well-maintained.” Danse grabbed the ladder with both hands, tried to step onto the first rung, and tore the ladder free exactly like Shaun thought would happen. “Aside from specially-constructed ladders, the use of power armor is incompatible. Can anyone tell me-”

Shaun raised his hand as high as his armor would allow. “I can, sir!”

Danse sighed. “Not you, Initiate. Can someone _besides_ Kostin tell me how you can surmount this obstacle without the use of a ladder?” Everyone made faces at each other and after a second the star paladin sighed again. “Fine, Kostin, go ahead.”

“With teamwork,” Shaun answered. “One or maybe two of us crouches down and locks the suit joints, the others climb up. One waits at the top and helps pull the last ones up.”

“Yes, exactly. Alright, you’re pairing up. Miller with Hawkes, Tarr with Markos, Vargas with Sebesta, Davis with Kostin, Mitchell with West. You’re competing for time against each other to surmount the obstacle in the manner previously described by Initiate Kostin. Miller, Hawkes, you’re up first.”

The rest of the training session was just them climbing the wall over and over again. Once it finally stopped, Shaun was pretty sure that if he poured the sweat from his flight suit into a hole there’d be enough water to go fishing in. His lower arms and the backs of his shoulders were already bruising and his hands swelled up the second he was free of the chassis.

“Hey, come with me real quick,” Laura offered, looking at his puffed up fingers. “I can get you some aspirin for that.”

“You’re the best, Laura,” Shaun told her, giving her his best smile. She was so nice.

When they were away from the parade ground: “So your dad was pretty tough on you today…”

“I mean, I made him mad about something last night, so… and he doesn’t want to get punished for favoritism or something. Plus I already figured everything out too quickly, he probably wanted to give everyone else a chance.”

“You’re cute when you’re being all smart.”

Shaun grinned. “Really? Thanks! Um, I kind of have to be smart, though. Everyone expects me to be smart and I don’t want to let them down.”

“I think you’re just smart, Shaun. It doesn’t really have anything to do with what other people say about you.” She was looking at him as they walked - her eyes were so pretty, this nice green color that kind of reminded him of how his dad’s Pip-Boy glowed in the dark.

“Both my dads’re really smart, that probably has something to do with it,” he pointed out.

They got into the infirmary and of course Cade stopped them. “Kostin, why are you here?”

“I’m giving him some minor anti-inflammatory medication, Knight-Captain,” Laura explained, saluting.

“I see. Carry on, soldiers.”

“He’s always annoyed at me,” Shaun whispered as they went into the chem storage and she started rooting around. “I think it’s because I got stabbed during training that time. I always get hurt by stupid stuff.”

Laura laughed as she pulled out a glass bottle of aspirin. “He doesn’t care about you, he’s like that to everyone who comes in.”

“Yeah I know, but it seems like I’m _extra_ annoying to him.”

“Actually one time he said you’re a really good student if you’d just get over your fear of blood. I’m super jealous of that, by the way, I spend all week here and he never says anything that nice about me. But you only train here once a week. It’s not fair.”

“Oh. Um, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Here, take two of these and drink at least half a can of water with them.”

She put them into his swollen palm and his whole hand tingled from touching her fingertips. After taking the aspirin, they had to separate, because while Shaun went to do heavy weapons Laura was excused to assist Cade with a minor procedure. This meant that until lunch, he was barked at by Knight-Captain Patel along with eighteen others about the “right way” to hold a Gatling laser even though they didn’t even get to fire the stupid guns. Holding something that big and chunky wasn’t fun to do without power armor, and Shaun really, _really_ hoped he didn’t get assigned one of these before he could have his own suit.

At lunch: “Hey, rotor-head, how’s training?”

Tina snorted. “It’s going to be, like, two years until they actually let me fly.” She handed him a cigarette and they both lit up. “So far I’m mostly just learning how to fix them and shit. You?”

“My dad kicked my ass because I’m too smart for power armor training,” he grinned, sucking in and then breathing the smoke out through his nose. “My whole body’s a giant bruise, I wish they’d pad the fucking frames, man.”

Levi dropped down onto the bench across from Tina. “What’s up, guys?”

“Why do you always call me a guy, fuck-stick?” she demanded.

“Because you date girls.” She kicked him under the table. “Ow! What the fuck, bro!” This got him kicked again, harder. “Fine! Fuck! You’re not a guy!” He started eating his InstaMash dry out of the box. “Maybe you should be a tank-jock instead, you could stomp a yao guai to paste like that…”

“No, because then I have to deal with dick-wagons like you,” Tina shot back.

“Hey, come on, I’m a tank-jock,” Shaun protested.

“No, dude, you’re a bullet-catcher. They won’t give you the fun shit like Fat Mans, you’ll be hiding behind me with your limp-dick rifle,” Levi grinned.

“Kick him again,” Shaun demanded, and Tina did. He high-fived her for it while Levi whined and pulled his knee up so he could rub his shin.

“So how come you get all the cute girls?” Tina asked, forking up some noodles. “They all drool after you.”

“I don’t know, I don’t really like it either, there’s too much attention on me already,” Shaun admitted. “I wish Laura liked me the way all of them do.”

“Bro, Laura _does_ like you,” Levi insisted. “You’re too smart to be this dumb, man.”

“She’s cute, you should totally go for it,” Tina put in.

“I’m always busy with shit, though. Between Maxson and my dad and every fucking book in the library, I have a negative balance of hours to spend during the day.”

“So read less?” Levi shrugged.

“I can’t, I’m going to be a field officer. There’s tons of shit you have to know for that.” Shaun stubbed out his cigarette and started in on his squirrel stew. “I have to do all kinds of leadership training and everything, plus Maxson’s always loading me down with field reports that I have to read.”

“You’re such an overachiever.” Tina rolled her eyes. “It’s a good thing you’re so nice, someone would’a kicked your ass six ways from Sunday by now otherwise.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re too good at everything, it makes the rest of us look bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Rotor-head" is a military slang term for helicopter pilot. I figured it was more fitting for a vertibird pilot than "jet-jockey," which I've seen used before, because vertibirds are nothing like jets. Tank-jock is exactly what it sounds like, except in this case referring to those wearing power armor and holding heavy weapons. Bullet-catcher means infantry.


	17. Roentgens

_No, they’re stuck in the tree, Shaun says._

_Well then you have to climb there and get them, Anthony tells him. You can stand on my shoulders._

_But that doesn’t work, Shaun says. I need my own Pip-Boy._

_I’ll go find one, Danse tells them._

_His hands go in his pockets._

_All he finds is a fusion cell and some string._

_His boots aren’t tied._

_He ties them up with the string._

_Dad, you have to help too, Shaun says._

_Anthony grabs his hand and pulls him over to the tree._

_Danse gives his boots to Shaun._

_Now Shaun can climb up._

_There’s a box of snack cakes there that he wants._

_Where’s Anthony?_

_Shaun can’t climb down now._

_Dad, help!_

Danse rolled onto his side and rubbed his face, and for a second when his eyes opened he looked for Shaun to offer assistance before realizing it was just a dream. There was nothing out of the ordinary to be found in his subconscious ramblings, but he still harbored a vague feeling of unease as he sat up in bed and turned off his alarm. Anthony didn’t appear in his dreams particularly often these days, so that might’ve been part of it.

It was the weekend, which meant the schedule for Initiates was different and he had no groups to train today. Generally speaking, this gave Danse time to catch up on some minor paperwork and obsessively work on his power armor even though he was no longer combat-assigned.

Which meant that the loss of his free time at breakfast was a sudden and very unpleasant surprise.

“Star Paladin, a word,” Maxson didn’t exactly request, catching him as he was about to go meet Shaun for his morning meal.

“Yes, Elder,” he ceded, sensing there wasn’t any getting out of this (whatever _this_ turned out to be).

They collected trays from the officer’s mess and went to Maxson’s office to eat. “I have a very specific set of details that I need from you in the coming weeks.”

“Sir?”

“Please, no formalities… this isn’t… _official._ In a sense, it pertains to your son.”

“Why? Is he alright?”

“He’s exceptional. But…” Maxson made a frustrated noise and rubbed his face, then took a bite of his deathclaw omelet. “The time frame for this was poorly explained, but at some point within the next six weeks the Mojave Chapter will be delivering my children here so they can adapt to this environment for the next three years, after which they’ll be old enough to be trained as Squires.”

Danse frowned. “I’m sure you have other officers who can advise you on this matter, Arthur, instead of making me miss having breakfast with my son…”

“Yes, technically that’s true, but they were all present for the birth of their offspring,” he answered. “You were not, and neither was I. How did you make the adjustment to your son’s presence?”

“I did it very poorly,” Danse admitted. He picked up his mutfruit, looked it over, and set it back down without taking a bite. “He made me extremely uncomfortable in the beginning. I don’t think I have anything to say about this issue that would be of any help to you, Arthur.”

“I have no other resources at my disposal for something so specific,” Maxson pointed out, casually eating more of his breakfast while Danse sat and failed to do the same. “The children of all my subordinates are in Diamond City, but still grow up knowing their parents. Mine have never met me, and last week turned seven years old.”

Danse considered. “It’s an extremely difficult adjustment that you’re going to have to make. None of your current priorities come before they do. You give things up for them… they’ll frequently disappoint you as well. Children are extremely irrational and logical explanations will only work to a point. Bear in mind also that Shaun was ten when I met him. That’s a significant age difference, and I can’t speak to the behavior of younger children.”

Maxson nodded with a thoughtful look. “I’d like you to elaborate on one point.”

“Alright.”

“You mentioned constant disappointment.”

“Oh. The best way I can describe it is that, providing your children are as stubborn as you, you’ll often find it rather insufferable. When Shaun gets an idea in his head there’s no persuading him of alternative choices. I imagine you’ll encounter similar issues.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that about him, but from my perspective this seems to be a positive trait. He has great aspirations, you should be proud of him.”

“He’s doing everything in his power to get himself killed in the field,” Danse snapped, unable to stop himself. “I have no inclination to feel ‘proud’ of that. You of all people should understand the life expectancy of Sentinels once they achieve that rank.”

“Not all Sentinels die young, and not all die at that rank,” Maxson argued. “There are two in the West Coast Chapter who’ve been serving under that title for nearly a decade.” Bright blue eyes studied him from across the table. “May I ask something?”

“Fine.”

“Why do you doubt his abilities? From a fairly neutral standpoint, I’m consistently impressed with your son and his talents. If my son is even half as capable as yours, I may be able to retire from my post in a few years.”

Danse didn’t think that was an accurate statement, but that wasn’t the topic of discussion, so he didn’t call Maxson out on it. “The issue isn’t that I doubt his abilities so much as I understand the dangers that await him on patrols and missions. I understand that statistically speaking it’s indescribably unlikely that Shaun will be placed in the circumstances that killed Anthony, but… it’s an extremely irrational fear that I’m unable to shake.”

He forced himself to eat approximately half of his food throughout the rest of the conversation and was relieved when he could finally leave. Returning his tray to the officers’ mess, Danse was prepared to start his paperwork for the morning when Proctor Ingram and Shaun appeared, clearly heading for the power armor storage.

“You’ll have to do the assembly yourself,” the proctor was saying. “And I can’t promise the parts will be functional once you do.”

“Well can’t I get someone to help me? I mean - oh, hi dad! Why didn’t you come for breakfast?”

“My expertise was needed. Aren’t you supposed to be with Head Scribe Neriah?”

“I got excused from Saturday mornings, I’m with her on Thursday afternoons anyway and she said I’ve already pretty much learned everything I’ll need to work with them in the field,” Shaun shrugged.

“Come on, kid, I have stuff to do,” Ingram interrupted.

“Sorry, Proctor.”

Danse followed them and was confused at first why his son was handed a yellow Geiger counter until he noticed that the box being opened was covered in lead. Immediately the detector started crackling wildly.

“What does it say?” Ingram asked in a fairly unconcerned tone.

“Um… four roentgens per hour,” Shaun answered, equally calm. “No, wait, four and a half. Roughly. The needle keeps bouncing.”

“Good, that’s less than I thought it would be… that’s the first thing you’ll have to do, you know, is to decontaminate or at least contain the radioactivity. You should do it in the garage, the roof level is used for contaminated armor.”

“Yes, sir. Um, what do you recommend?”

“A lead and aluminum plating, then coat it over top with rubber to stop the aluminum from corroding.”

The case was shut again and Ingram picked it up to carry it off the ship. With lead plating over steel, it would probably be impossible to lift without the use of power armor. Danse watched them both leave, with Shaun asking question after question about decontamination surfactants and whether manual sanding could remove some of the radioactive particles. He sat in his office for the rest of the morning, completely unproductive. It was abundantly clear that Shaun wouldn’t be discouraged from this goal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The roentgen (R) is the oldest unit of measure pertaining to radioactivity. It can be broken down into milliroentgens (mR) and microroentgens (μR). Generally speaking, average background radiation in most parts of the world is between 10 and 30 μR/hour. Anything over 100 μR is when questions should be asked, but health safety concerns should really be raised past the point of about 1 mR. A Strontium-90 check source from a Soviet DP-5 Geiger counter, manufactured in 1969, will today emit between 12 and 16 mR/h, which isn't something you want to be around for too long if it's uncovered.
> 
> For further perspective: 1 R/h is about 100,000 times the average background radiation. This is a gross unit of measurement, where mR is intermediate and μR is fine. 400 roentgens total body exposure within 48-72 hours is the median lethal dose in adult humans, assuming they seek medical help immediately. The Chernobyl firemen took on average 1600 roentgens exposure and were all dead within a month. In my post-canon for Fallout 4, Sole Survivor Anthony Kostin took about 3500 or possibly as much as 4000 roentgens in the span of two seconds and died in four days.
> 
> So, to say that after eight years the salvaged pieces of his power armor (accounting for the decay of fission isotopes, which lower the emission of radionuclides over time) emit 4 R/h, is to say that they're still radioactive enough to be immediately dangerous to life and health. Shaun, being a synth, is not affected by this, but others would be, which is why he needs to take care of this issue before making any repairs. Some dose rates of radioactivity are inconsequential and statistically insignificant; anything over 1 R/h is considered to be IDLH for medical purposes.


	18. Exposure

“Arthur, this is unacceptable.”

Maxson looked up to find Cade standing in the doorway to his office, holding some papers and looking irate.

“Your greetings are more and more suitable for polite company every time I see you, Dominic,” Maxson remarked dryly. “What unspeakable atrocity have I committed today?”

“Your kids can _not_ be sent to live in Diamond city.”

“I see. Then where do you propose they live instead?”

“Here with you!” Cade shouted. “At the very least put them in the barracks with the squires, you need to be accessible to them!” He started waving the papers around. “This is their physical and behavioral health data that the Mojave Chapter sent over - the scribe who wrote it gave extremely detailed notes on the inconsistent supervision and discipline they’ve received. These two will have behavior problems at the very least and you need to actually take care of them instead of pawning them off on someone else until they’re old enough to be trained!”

Maxson frowned and folded his hands together on top of his desk. “I know nothing about child rearing,” he pointed out. “And I was voluntold by the West Coast to have these children. I’m open to suggestions on how to make this situation less difficult.”

“I don’t have any. Kids are difficult, and that’s a fact you’re just going to have to get used to. You’re going to have to rearrange your entire life, which means turning over most of that bureaucratic shit to the scribes and giving up your inspections to Jaeger. They’ll need consistency and love and attention from you. You can start by getting books about this from Quinlan, I know he has some.”

Maxson shifted in his chair and rubbed his forehead. “Are there any positive aspects to these drastic changes you’re insisting on?”

“Well, for one thing you’re more than capable of making those changes. Look how you handle Kostin.”

“Yes, and speaking of Kostin, I need to go find him for the morning,” Maxson pointed out. “We can continue this later.”

Cade gave him an annoyed look, but nodded. “Fine. I need to go over all this with you at some point, too, just so you’re not surprised by anything.”

“Yes, I understand. Come back to my office after lunch and we can discuss this issue further.”

With that, they both left his office and went in separate directions. Maxson rode down to the airport and immediately made for the parking garage, finding Kostin at the top level and surrounded by tools. He reached into his coat pocket and dry-swallowed some Rad-X before approaching, then noticed that the Geiger counter was quiet.

“Good morning, Initiate.”

Kostin sprang to his feet and saluted, sleeves rolled up and skin smudged in grime. “Good morning, sir.”

“At ease. I can’t help but notice that your detector is inert, have you successfully removed the contamination?”

His ears turned pink. “Um, no, sir. It was annoying me so I turned it off. The last time I read it, it was about two and a half roentgens per hour still. I keep scrubbing and sanding but nothing works, I’ll have to weld lead over everything like Proctor Ingram said.”

Maxson nodded and was immediately glad he’d taken the Rad-X. “And you’re not concerned for your health? What does your dosimeter say?”

Kostin glanced down to the yellow pen-shaped device clipped to his chest. “Oh, I haven’t been checking it, I’m immune to radioactivity, sir.”

“And you’re certain.”

“Yes, sir, I’m certain. It was pretty well-documented by the Institute, radiation can’t hurt me.”

Maxson frowned to himself - despite everything he’d read in reports, he’d heard nothing about the Institute experimenting on children, but apparently there’d been no point too low for them to stoop to.

“I see. Contamination aside, how have you been progressing?”

“Slowly, sir. Some parts need to get replaced, and… I mean, I knew I’d have to do that, but my dad won’t help me so I have to do all of it myself and I’m not great at this yet. I re-borrowed the T-60 manual from Proctor Quinlan, but there were mods in this armor and those aren’t covered, so… this will take me awhile. Nobody else will help either, they’re scared of the radiation.”

“In that case, your best option may be to find an armor scribe who’s a synth and ask for their assistance.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And as for the mods, you should return to Quinlan and ask for any archived materials requisitions that Sentinel Kostin may have placed, they may inform you of what you’re dealing with.” Maxson had a thought then. “Initiate, what was the initial reading you took on these armor pieces?”

“Between four and four-point-five roentgens, sir.”

“And how far away were you standing?”

“A few feet.”

Maxson picked up the Geiger counter and switched it on, listening for the quiet whine before flicking the dial to the setting he wanted. He checked the probe against the control first, then replaced the lead flap and pointed it towards the boot. Walking until he was in the same proximity to it as his student, he eyed the meter. “Were you trained in the use of these, Initiate?”

“Um, no, sir.”

“Well in that case I forgive you for your error. This is not two and a half roentgens per hour. It’s not four roentgens per hour, either. It’s fifteen and a half.” He moved the probe to the arm piece and as soon as the needle settled immediately backed away from it; Rad-X could only do so much to protect him, after all. “Kostin, I feel you should be aware that at present you’re currently accumulating roughly forty two rem of exposure _every hour._ Are you absolutely certain that you’re immune?”

“Well, sir, at that rate in two hours I’d start showing symptoms of poisoning, and in ten hours I’d have taken the median lethal dose. But I’m fine. So, yes, I’m immune.”

Maxson nodded slowly. “Even so, following each repair session you should report to Cade for treatment just to be certain. Let me see your dosimeter.” Kostin plucked the little yellow tube from his fatigues and handed it over; Maxson looked into it through the window at the end and found it maxed out at two hundred, even though the dose was likely much higher than that. “You’re also to have your clothes thoroughly decontaminated, and after this I’m requiring you to wear impermeable coveralls over top of them.”

“Yes, sir,” Kostin nodded, even though he obviously thought this was unnecessary. “I read a thing about that Atom cult once, though. Most of them are immune. Sometimes people just aren’t affected.”

“They’re immune due to genetic mutations that cause high levels of antioxidant compounds to be present in their bodies, which limits the effects of free radicals. However many of them ultimately die at fairly young ages due to chronic hypoxia, which you show no signs of.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I and many others would appreciate you to be more cautious going forward, Initiate.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

Maxson left the parking garage briefly to borrow a hazmat suit from Teagan, then returned. He had passable knowledge of power armor and Kostin needed an extra set of hands. Besides those things, he was also spurred on by everything Cade had said earlier and this was technically a resource he could use.

“I’m in need of an opinion, Initiate.”

“Yes, sir.”

Maxson grabbed the lead sheeting and began fastening it over the boot shell. “What are some positive experiences you can recall from your childhood?”

Kostin shrugged, not looking up from the wires he was soldering. “Um. I was really happy when I got to meet my dad for the first time. Sometimes he would build robot models with me, and he’d always bring stuff back from missions that I could take apart and play with. One time he got me a whole case of tools from a factory.”

“And those activities are enjoyable for children?”

“I mean, I liked all that stuff, I don’t know if other people do. What did you do when you were a kid, sir?”

“I trained to be a soldier.”

“Um, was that it?”

“Generally speaking. Most other activities were discouraged as a waste of time.”

“That sucks. Um. I also drew pictures and read a lot, and I liked to go fishing, but you can’t really fish around here, it’s too dirty. Why do you want to know, sir?”

“My offspring will be arriving soon.”

“Oh, cool! Will they be Squires?”

“No, they’re too young. They’ll also put additional time constraints on my schedule, so I may have less time available to interact with you once they’ve been delivered.”

“That’s okay, they’re important,” Kostin answered in a very agreeable tone. He wiped his hands on his legs, then pulled on dark goggles and started welding aluminum onto the lower arm shell. “I bet when they’re Squires they’ll be good at lots of stuff. If I’m an officer when they graduate, can I sponsor them?”

“You’re getting very far ahead of yourself, Initiate,” Maxson answered, and in a rare instance found himself hard pressed not to start chuckling. Kostin’s bizarre level of enthusiasm for random things never ceased to surprise him. The truth was, if things progressed as they currently were, he would approve that mentorship assignment in a heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the radiation instruments described here and in the previous chapter are all taken from actual Civil Defense detectors and dosimeters from the 1950s. They're very attractive yellow devices with big, easy to read dials on the Geiger-Muller counters and a convenient window in the end of each pen dosimeter so you can simply look inside and see your dose without needing any extra equipment. All these things take D-cell batteries and can be drop-kicked off a roof without taking damage. It stands to reason the BoS would have plenty such devices at their disposal, with electronic dosimeters built into the HUD of the power armor suits and pen dosimeters for those not wearing power armor. The handheld survey meters would likely be used by Scribes on field assignments.


	19. Emotional Pictures

Shaun felt really stupid when he was putting on his uniform that morning - he’d been awake for exactly twenty four hours now because he never went to sleep last night.

“Dude, you look like death,” Brent commented from the next bunk over as he was tying his boots over the ends of his fatigue pants.

“I was up all night reading,” Shaun explained before pulling on his sweater. At least it was the weekend, so he didn’t have that much to do today. His dad would probably be mad, though. “I got some more stuff from Quinlan on Thursday, and it’s… um… fascinating and shit.”

He picked up the thick document and took it with him to the cafeteria, not even getting food first before trying to find Laura. He didn’t know all the medical words and she was always super helpful, and plus then he’d get to talk to her.

Shaun found Laura right as she was reaching the end of the breakfast line. “Hey! Um, can you look at this with me? There’s some stuff I don’t get.”

“Sure,” she nodded, picking up her tray and following him to an empty table. “What is it?”

“Um, it’s… just look.” He passed it over to her and leaned on the table a little with his elbows.

“Oh, I don’t think I want this while I’m trying to eat,” Laura grimaced, handing it back.

“Okay. But can I just ask what some of the words are?”

“…fine. But don’t make me look at the pictures, I’ve already seen all of them and they’re too gross.”

Shaun flipped to the end and found the first one. “Um, ‘radiological necrosis’.”

Laura looked like she was about to choke on her Sugar Bombs. “God, Shaun, why do you need to know this so bad?”

“Please will you just help me? I really do need to know, and I promise I’ll explain after.”

She huffed out a breath. “Radiological necrosis is when a victim has severe exposure and it causes massive cell death. It means your body starts rotting and falling apart because it just can’t heal anymore.”

Shaun was already sorry he’d asked, but he pressed ahead. “Oh. Okay. Um. ‘Exfoliating dermatitis progressing to gross erythroderma’. God, medical words are so long and weird.”

Laura had to think about that one for a second. “Pretty much that means your skin turns red and swells up, then it all falls off in big patches. It’s a huge infection risk.”

“Yeah, I think once your skin is falling off infections are pretty much the last thing you’re worried about,” Shaun pointed out. He looked for the next word. “‘Epistaxis’, ‘hemotympanum’, and ‘subconjunctival hemorrhage’.”

“Bleeding from the ears, nose and eyes.”

“Gross.”

“You’re the one who wants to know. Anything else?” Laura looked kind of frustrated now and was glaring at her breakfast.

“‘Hematemesis’.”

“Puking up blood.”

“‘Severe acute radiological hemophilia’.”

“You start bleeding and it doesn’t stop.”

“‘Persistent hematuria’.”

“Constantly pissing blood.”

Shaun felt sick, but he pushed forward. “Um, ‘pleural effusion’.”

“Fluid getting stuck between your chest wall and your lungs… come on, Shaun, I really need to finish eating.”

“Just one more,” he answered in an embarrassingly shaky voice. “‘Pulmonary edema’.”

“Fluid actually _in_ your lungs.” Laura made a face at him. “Look, what’s this even for? Radiation sickness is awful, everyone knows that already.”

“Because. Um. Proctor Quinlan gave me a bunch of files to read about injuries in the field.”

“But we don’t get radiation injuries that often,” she frowned. “So why do you need to know about it?”

“I mean, they do still happen sometimes. It just bugs me that…”

He stopped talking when his dad showed up. Shaun wished really hard that he could’ve finished this conversation just two minutes sooner and flipped the pack of reports over so that its title,  **_Radiological Injuries In The Field: Updated 2293 Compilation_** , couldn’t be seen.

“Where’s your food, Shaun?” his dad wondered.

“I forgot to get it, I was busy talking,” he admitted.

“Go obtain something for breakfast.”

Shaun didn’t say what he was thinking: that it was ironic his dad, who barely remembered to eat on his own and usually didn’t finish without being forced, was telling him to go get food. He grabbed a radscorpion omelet and some tarberry juice and hurried to sit down, but it was too late. He should’ve brought the document with him.

“Why are you reading this?” his dad wondered.

“I asked him the same thing,” Laura grumbled.

Shaun’s ears felt hot. “Um. Well like I said, this was one of the ones Proctor Quinlan gave to me. Can I have it back, dad?”

He didn’t give it back and instead kept looking through it. He neared the end and stopped, then looked over at Shaun. “Have you read it through?”

“…yeah.”

“This may be a teachable moment, then. Having read this report, do you understand now why I’m not enthusiastic about the idea of you being issued those armor pieces?”

“I mean, kinda, yeah, but radiation can’t hurt me. Plus this way I’m assembling my own armor set, it’ll all be fully customized and everything. Proctor Ingram even turned it into a project for me, I get pieces and parts of ruined armor and I take the usable stuff to make each section. It’s actually pretty fun and I’m learning a lot about how everything works. Plus who else can say they built their power armor from the ground up? It’s just cool.”

His dad looked even more uncomfortable when he said that. “Shaun, do you understand what happens to make those armor parts unfixable? You’re building your suit from pieces of soldiers who were killed and maimed. Why won’t you accept a preassembled set when you graduate? Anton didn’t build his suit and neither did I, I fail to see why you find this necessary.”

“Because I’m not like everyone else,” Shaun answered, looking down at his food. “I do everything else different, so why not this too? And everyone said it was okay. Plus I get to learn a lot about power armor like I said.”

“When I was a knight, my squad would memorize the serial numbers of everyone’s rifles. If one of us was injured of killed, we knew to keep an eye out for that serial number in case one of us had reason to be issued a new weapon and could avoid those rifles. The knight-sergeant and the paladin both told all of us that it’s unlucky, if you know someone, to use their equipment if they die.”

“Well… okay, but I don’t know most of the people that these parts are coming from, so it’s okay. Dad look, okay, I know you worry about me a lot and you don’t want me to get hurt and everything, but you’re kind of being a vertibird parent. I’m grown up now. You don’t always have to hold my hand. And plus, I’m not going to just go running into super mutant hives for the hell of it, I’m not trying to get hurt. I want to be a good soldier and someday I want to be a good leader. That’s all.”

Danse stared at him. “But you _have_ looked at these pictures.”

“Yeah, I guess they did a mock-up on soldiers to show what the injuries looked like.”

“These are _not_ a mock-up!” Danse snapped, flipping to one of the very last pages and jamming the tip of his index finger onto one of them. “Presumably Haylen took these pictures while I was unconscious for documentation purposes. Do you see all this red bleeding area?” He circled with his finger, then grabbed Shaun by the shoulder and forced him to look. “This was the progression of a horrible illness. By the time I saw it, it was black and rotten.” Danse turned the page - a full sized sheet photo that Shaun hadn’t even recognized. “This was taken after he died and all the wound drains were pulled out.” The file was closed. “Now you’re carrying this around with you and reading it in your spare time.”

Shaun shook his head as hard as he could. It took him too long to stop choking before he could answer. “I didn’t know. I thought… I didn’t know.” He wiped his face on his sleeve and tried to go back to breathing normally. He refused to cry in the mess with everyone watching. “I knew they wrote that part about him, I didn’t think the pictures… I thought it was a mock-up. Dad, I’m sorry.”

Danse glared at him in a way that read _you should be sorry_ and shoved the file back into his hands, then immediately got up and left. Shaun wiped his face again and pushed his breakfast away. He knew he couldn’t eat it, not now.

“Shaun? Are you going to be okay?” Laura asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he nodded. Then he realized it was a complete lie and shook his head. “No.” He folded his arms on the table and put his face there so that nobody would see him crying. Those ugly, gross, horrible photographs were of Anthony while he’d been dying. Shaun wished he could unsee them. “Why would they take those pictures?”

“So that the medics can know,” she answered, and then her hand was there, lightly rubbing his shoulder. “So we can know if someone can be saved or not. If they can’t, we give them a nicer death.”

“Laura can you do something for me?” He rubbed his face dry on his forearms and picked his head up to look at her.

“What?”

“If something happens to me, don’t let them take pictures.”

“I-I’ll try,” she stammered. “So those are… the sentinel?”

“Yeah. It’s so… did you see how gross it is? I thought it had to be made-up and they were exaggerating the pictures. I thought people can’t look like that, and… but that’s my dad. They took all these pictures without asking and now it’s in here where anyone can see it. That’s so fucking wrong.”

Laura nodded slowly. “It’s standard procedure, I think. Whenever the scribes have a chance they’ll photograph injuries for reference in documents. That’s why… those are in there.” Her hand moved from his shoulder and slipped into his palm, squeezing lightly. “I know you study a lot, but maybe you should lay off the medical files for a little bit, okay?”

“Yeah,” Shaun agreed. “I just… um, I wasn’t expecting this. Plus now my dad’s mad at me. Like, even more than usual.”

“Is he always mad at you?”

“Not always. He has, um, he has really bad emotional problems. Plus he drinks way too much. He drank less when my other dad was still alive.”

Laura’s pretty eyes were soft. “I’m sorry about your dad, Shaun,” she told him quietly.

“Which one?”

“Both. I hope he gets better.”

“Thanks… I hope he will, too.” Shaun sighed. “I have to go give this file back and then work on my power armor, do you want to come with me? Um, if you’re not busy.”

“I’m helping with a surgery in an hour, but I’ll come hang out with you this afternoon.”

“Cool.”


	20. Behavior Disorders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God damn, this is short, but it's been forever since I updated and I'm finally working on this fic again, so tiny progress is better than no progress, right?

A knock. “Elder.”

“Lancer-Captain.” Maxson frowned at his paperwork and didn’t look up.

“May I ask how it went?”

Now, he did look, fixing his subordinate with a stare. “Lancer-Captain, I presume you’ve heard the expression before ‘it could’ve gone worse.’ I’m firmly of the belief that this could not, in fact, have gone any worse. I’m led to question exactly what goes on in the Mojave chapter that allowed such disrespect and poor behavior to be fostered in two future squires.”

Kells was silent for a long moment, looking pensive. “Well, Elder, it seems you have a difficult task cut out for you.”

“Indeed.”

“May I ask what went wrong?”

“Jonathan is touch-averse and seems to have antisocial tendencies. He refuses to look at me when I speak to him and often refuses to reply to efforts at conversation with him. On the advice of Knight-Captain Cade, I attempted to research child-rearing techniques from books in Proctor Quinlan’s archive. However much of what I read seems ineffective and understandably outdated. One thing that was mentioned several times is that tactile contact with young children is critical… I attempted to pat him on the shoulder and he went into a fit. Sylvia then castigated me, completely unprovoked, in a manner that implies she believes I should’ve known better.”

“Didn’t you mention before that there were implications of behavior disorders?”

“Cade at one point raised the issue. I wasn’t prepared for anything on this scale. It only goes to show that allowing children to be created out of political pressure was a decision I should’ve thought about more thoroughly when the order came through.”

“They’re here now, though. How are you going to proceed?”

“Allegedly, the remedies for these behavior issues involve me spending time with them. Unfortunately my time is limited. I’ll assign one of the scribes to continue tutoring them in their basic academic skills and rearrange my schedule to allow for further social contact with them as well… it’s largely contingent on Schwarzwelder and Quinlan taking some extra duties off my hands.”

“And Kostin?”

“I don’t believe he’ll take issue with being around them, he tends to be friendly and helpful to squires.”

“I’ve heard good things about him.”

“He’s a swift learner and an attentive student. He’ll be attending the staff meeting this morning with the understanding that he remains seated in the corner and observe in silence in order to familiarize himself with the structure of formal group communication among officers.”


	21. Future Missions

“Dude, don’t you _ever_ have days off?” Levi asked as they walked across the airport.

“Nope.” Shaun was sick of his friends asking him that. “And that isn’t gonna change, either.”

“It’s fucking Saturday!”

“Yup, it sure is.”

“Bro-”

“Man, fuck off, I have shit to do, okay? That’s really all there is to it.”

Levi shook his head at Shaun. “Maxson’s working your ass to death.”

Shaun was so done with this conversation. “Yeah, you know what? Just because you don’t want your career going anywhere doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t move forward with our own shit.”

Levi’s dark eyebrows went up. “Fucking _wow,_ man. Alright. What’d your dad chew you out for this time?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s not important and I don’t wanna talk about it.”

They stop in at Teagan’s station.

“Morning, Proctor.”

“Hey, kid. What can I do for you, more solder and lead plates?”

“No, sir, I finally got all the lead done, I’ll bring back all the extra stuff I didn’t use later… um, I was wondering about archives of schematics and stuff? I have most of the armor plates finally and I’m thinking about mods, I was wondering, um, I wanted to know what my dad did with his.”

“Which dad?”

“The dead one.”

“That was eight years ago, Kostin. You’ll have to ask Quinlan.”

“Dammit.”

“Is that bad?” Levi wondered.

“Yeah, he only borrows out so much stuff to me at once and I’m already at the limit.” Shaun looked back at Teagan. “Hey, can I ask something kinda dumb?”

“Sure, sometimes dumb questions are the best ones I get,” Teagan snorted.

“My dad gives me these funny looks sometimes. Elder Maxson does it too once in awhile. What the hell’s up with that?”

“You look too much like the sentinel.”

Shaun huffed, frustrated. “Well, there’s not even anything I can do about that!”

“Sure there is, get a different haircut and grow a moustache. It probably wouldn’t even look that bad on you.”

He looked at Levi and got a shrug. “It’s worth a shot, dude.”

“Yeah…” Shaun sighed. “Thanks, Proctor.”

“Sure, kid. So I heard you’re invited to a staff meeting today.”

“Yeah, I have to learn about-”

“Initiate, trust me: the only thing you need to know about them is they’re boring as shit.”

Shaun grinned. He liked Teagan. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Alright, get outta my hair. Go ask Quinlan about those schematics, he might hand some of them over anyway, so it’s worth a shot.”

“Thanks.”

They head for Quinlan’s section.

“Ah, Initiates. I presume, Kostin, that you’ve come to argue with me once again about the limit I place on materials you’re allowed to borrow from my archive.”

“Well… not exactly, sir,” Shaun said after saluting. “Proctor Teagan told me to ask you for some schematics from the archive, I want to see all the stuff my d-uh, Sentinel Kostin did with his power armor. Since I’m building my own set I thought I could get some ideas from those, and I asked Proctor Teagan but he said you had them.”

“I do indeed. However, I’d like to make a recommendation of my own.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Considering your admittedly understandable interest in your late father’s activities, and that you’ll be attending the staff meeting today, I’d advise you study those instead.” Quinlan disappeared for a second behind a stack of boxes and came back holding a holotape. “This one in particular, I believe, will interest you. I expect it returned by 16:00 hours.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Shaun immediately ran to the barracks and sat at the terminal. He blew dust out of the holotape before inserting it, and a couple seconds later the command popped up on the screen: **PLAY HOLOTAPE? Y/N**

He hit **Y** and sat back in the chair to watch.

_“Request permission to begin the meeting, Elder,” Kells said, saluting._

_“Granted. Proceed.”_

_“For those not aware, the Gunner mercenaries residing in the GNR plaza have been expunged and a team of field scribes have been dispatched to search it for prewar artifacts. Commendations should be given to Squad Halberd for their efficient and decisive actions, they took no casualties and executed their mission with minimal damage to the interior of the structure and its contents.”_

_“Thank you, Paladin. Sentinel, what progress has been made regarding your project in the Glowing Sea?” Kells asked._

_Anthony shifted at the table. “Well, we don’t have any way to lower the environmental contamination-”_

_“We’re aware of this, Sentinel,” Maxson interrupted._

_Anthony cleared his throat. “My recommendation stands that teams sent to that area wear hazmat coveralls under their power armor in place of the standard uniforms. I came across a document that says those suits are butyl rubber impregnated with lead salts, which helps to further limit exposure. Elder, without extensive and difficult upgrades to power armor suits, a soldier can last maybe an hour out there before they start to show signs of ARS. And it’s a waste of resources, the amount of Rad-X and RadAway allocated to field teams isn’t sufficient to support these kinds of operations. The X-111 compound can’t be made fast enough to supplement it, either. We should locate industrial sites that would have a supply of hazmat suits and send teams to recover them. The Glowing Sea isn’t going anywhere.”_

_Maxson looked at Quinlan. “Have we discovered any such locations, Proctor?”_

_“Not as yet, Elder. However, I wouldn’t call the existence of such caches an unrealistic expectation by any means.”_

_“Elder, if I may.”_

_“Yes, Paladin.”_

_Schwarzwelder folded his hands on top of the table. “My team recently uncovered evidence of a nuclear power station several miles north of the state border with Vermont, if it will aid Sentinel Kostin’s efforts to mitigate the threat posed by the abominations living in the Glowing Sea I’d like to request permission to lead an expedition there. From what I’ve read in the documents, the power station is located in a relatively isolated area of the state and it’s probable or even likely that it’s gone largely untouched since the Great War.”_

_“And the possibility that it melted down during the nuclear holocaust?”_

_“Low, sir. That area wasn’t a strategically important target. I’d also like to propose that given the nature of the facility, we’ll be able to acquire nuclear material that can be used to reload fusion cores.”_

_Maxson frowned, but nodded. “Your request is acceptable, Paladin. The details will be discussed tomorrow morning and your squad will be briefed.”_

_“Thank you, Elder.”_

“What are you watching?”

Shaun hit the spacebar on the keyboard to pause the tape. “An old recording, I’m going to a staff meeting today so Quinlan borrowed this to me to watch first.”

“I thought staff meetings are for officers,” Laura frowned, pulling over the other chair and sitting next to him.

“Yeah, but Elder Maxson said I could. Plus I’m gonna be an officer someday, so I should know how all this shit works.”

“Hm.”

“So like, were you looking for me?”

“Yeah, actually. A bunch of us are playing tag this afternoon, I wanted to ask if you’ll do it with us.”

Shaun was actually planning to work on his power armor some more, but this sounds way more productive. “Yeah, sure!” he grinned.

“Cool, we’ll have an even number of players now.” Laura had such a great smile, Shaun could just look at her forever. “Can I watch with you?”

“Okay!” He pointed to the screen. “That’s my dad, there. This was way back in 2288, I was eleven then.”

He unpaused the holotape and they watched together. Most of it was pretty boring, all kinds of logistical stuff that Quinlan and Teagan talked about. Shaun kind of paid half-attention to the screen during all that, letting the rest of his brain think about playing tag. Pretty much they shot at each other with muzzled laser rifles, which stung but didn’t actually injure and usually wouldn’t burn clothing either. If you got hit, you were out, and the team with the least people out at the end won. There was a whole obstacle course on the far end of the tarmac just for this game, and Shaun only played once before but it was really fun even though he was out after just six minutes.

“I’m so glad I won’t be an officer,” Laura snorted after the holotape ended. “I wouldn’t want to sit through all that, I’d much rather cut people up with scalpels.”

“I mean, not every officer goes to these, and not every officer goes to every meeting,” Shaun explained as he ejected the tape. “Um. Like, it depends what the briefings are on. So like Schwarzwelder and Kells and Maxson are always there, and so are Teagan and Quinlan, but other than that you’re not always called to them. My dad always had to go to them because he was a sentinel.”

He got up from the terminal and went to his bunk so he could change from his fatigues to his flight suit.

“So tag’s happening after lunch.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “You’ll be on my team, right?”

“Well, obviously.” They grinned at each other for a second. “Why do you have two sets of tags?”

Shaun gave her the short explanation. “Cade kept giving me shit for it for awhile, but I finally convinced him to just let me wear them.” He tucked them into his flight suit before zipping it to his neck and fastening the collar.

“My mom used to be a scribe, I think it’d be cool if I could’ve got her tags, too.”

“Why, did she die or something?”

“No, she’s just not in the Brotherhood anymore. It’s a long story.”

“Okay.” He checked his watch. “I gotta go… see you after lunch?”

“Yep.”

Shaun went to the vertibird that would take him up to the _Pryd_ and pulled out a pack of cigarettes once he was strapped in. He wondered if they’d let him smoke during staff meetings. Maybe he should’ve asked ahead of time.

When Shaun got there, it was just Maxson and Kells. Both of them were shuffling papers but looked up at him, so he saluted. “Reporting Elder, Lancer-Captain.”

“Good. There’s a chair in the corner,” Kells informed him.

“I have a question, sir.”

Maxson looked like he almost groaned but was holding it in. “Initiate, how many times have I instructed you to just _ask?_ ”

“At least three, Elder. Sorry. Um, can I smoke?”

“Yes, almost everyone does during these. Go sit down, Kostin.”

Shaun found his chair and watched the room fill up: Schwarzwelder, Teagan, Quinlan, Gavil, Danse. Cade showed up last, still dressed for a surgery and spattered with blood.

Kells stood up and saluted. “Request permission to begin the meeting, Elder.”

“Granted, proceed.”

“Proctor, Paladin-Commander, please start us off.”

Quinlan got out of his chair. “Multiple research patrols to military sites in the area have confirmed the presence of strategic locations to the northeast. We’ll be looking to investigate three areas.” He unfolded a map of Maine onto the table and began pointing to spots circled in red ink. “Portland, Bath, Presque Isle. Portland and Bath are strongly suspected of hosting Vaults, which could provide research information… no matter how ghastly the thought may be. Bath and Presque Isle are confirmed to contain prewar military sites which would be extremely valuable to us. First is the Ironworks - there’s a high possibility of materials and equipment being present which can allow us to increase our manufacturing capabilities for not only T-60 power armor, but also parts for the upkeep and maintenance of the _Prydwen._ I’d like to recommend that the Bath Iron Works take top priority. Now, in Presque Isle, there are vague implications of a small research facility which was used by military scientists for defense research against NBC agents. In addition, there is an Air Force installation there including a factory which produced many of the components used to construct vertibirds.”

Quinlan sat back down and Schwarzwelder got to his feet next.

“Portland and Bath are reasonably close to each other. It seems possible that we’ll be able to conserve resources by sending a single team to that area for scouting operations. Presque Isle is significantly more problematic, it’s extremely far north, nearing the former Canadian border. It’s far out of the way of any other objectives we’d be pursuing. I agree that it would be nice to have additional materials for our Lancers, but I think we should seriously consider first if it’s actually necessary. The amount of distance that would have to get covered for only a singular objective may not be worth the risk.”

Teagan snorted. “You have seen those damn things, right? An extra-staticky radstorm and a couple mean words are all it takes to knock a ’bird outta the sky.”

“Proctor,” Maxson warned, stopping him.

Kells shook his head. “However poorly-phrased it was, he makes a valid point. A large amount of our materials loss is due solely to downed aircraft. I’m in favor of sending a team to investigate the military sites in Presque Isle if it can ease some of that burden.”

“And Bath? Are we certain it will yield results as well?” Maxson asked.

Schwarzwelder got back in his seat and Shaun watched everyone’s eyes turn to his dad, who was lighting a fresh cigarette with the butt of his last one. Danse didn’t get up from the table and took a long drag before speaking.

“I’ve examined the reports with Proctor Ingram and we reached the same conclusion. The benefits of such an excursion will far outweigh the danger posed to the soldiers undertaking it. The armor currently in use for training is very generously referred to in my reports as sub-par and I do not believe that learning on broken equipment is particularly beneficial to my students. In addition, I’m aware of a number of older suits of T-60 armor which are at a stage befitting retirement from the field. If we can increase our manufacturing capacity, there would be improvements all around for troops active in the field as well as initiates in training. Proctor Ingram isn’t here, of course, but she did inform me that she backs any decision to reconnoiter the Bath/Brunswick region. I would also like to voice my approval of this operation if it proceeds.”

“It’d be good for support sections as well,” Gavil agreed. “The scribes that I share with proctor Teagan are constantly overburdened re-assessing old damaged armor plates for use as teaching tools when they should be scrapped and repurposed. If there was a greater abundance of functional armor plates, we wouldn’t be so hard-pressed to recirculate broken units.”

Quinlan started talking again. “It’s entirely within the realm of possibility that common looters and scavengers wouldn’t understand the value of the equipment and machinery at Bath Iron Works. In addition, there’s sure to be an immense volume of technical documentation stored there which we may acquire and archive.”

“Knight-Captain?” Kells prompted, turning to Cade.

The CMO shrugged. “My biggest concern would be both these teams getting sent at once. Most of our experienced field medics are currently stationed in the Capital Wasteland until 2299 and I only have three in training right now. Field Scribes can’t do everything, they need extra hands and extra muscle to be at their best. I’m in favor of these operations providing they wait until my current students are trained and that they not both get sent at the same time.”

Maxson and Kells shared a look. It kind of seemed like they could see what the other one was thinking right then.

“We’ll postpone the scouting expeditions until next year,” Kells decided, folding his hands on top of the table. “In addition to medics, we also have several field officers in training who would greatly benefit from taking part in these missions. Our need for equipment and materials is nowhere near a level approaching desperation and this gives us ample preparation time.”

When _officers in training_ got brought up, almost everyone looked at Shaun for a second. He did his best not to squirm. Maxson invited him here, after all.

“Paladin-Commander.”

“Yes, Elder.”

“Have you read the assessments on the current Initiate class?”

“I have, Elder.”

“Excellent. I trust you’ve already decided which squads to deploy for these missions and which Initiates will be assigned to those squads on completion of their training and graduation to Knight.”

“Yes, Elder. I’ll complete the paperwork for their assignments and turn it in by the end of the month.”

Shaun didn’t get how the paladin-commander could already have everyone placed when they weren’t even done learning yet. It seemed sort of stupid to him, but maybe there was some trick to it that he didn’t know. Whatever it was, he knew there had to be a kind of reasoning behind it whether it was stupid or not.

He hoped he’d get sent on one of those missions next year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I was in JROTC I did have to attend staff meetings when I was an officer (12th grade) and while they weren't structured quite like this there was a very specific organization and ritual to them. I figure with the way the BoS is and the lore/culture they've created for themselves, their staff meetings would still have a very specific organization and ritual, it just wouldn't be like what I saw every week.


	22. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so. I ended up going for a huge time-skip, guys. I've been dragging this on for long enough and also there's only so many chapters I can write of Danse being depressed and cranky, which I'm sure you all are even more sick of than me by now. I did my best to make it as non-confusing as possible.

“…and I still have a bunch of caps from helping run that job for Teagan, so we can just go there and fucking party!” Shaun was announcing to his friends when Danse came into earshot.

“Great, maybe we can get fucknut here laid… only for real this time,” Worthington commented.

“I fucking hate you so much, Tina!” Fuller snapped, picking up a tato off his tray and lobbing it at her but missing by at least a foot.

“Only because you know I’m better at everything in every possible way than you are,” she gloated. “I’m  _ definitely _ better at making girls come than you.”

Shaun cackled at that for a brief moment, then noticed Danse and panicked. “Guys, shut up, my dad’s right there!”

All three of them jumped up from the table and saluted.

“At ease, graduates.”

“You need something from us, sir?” Fuller asked, always the boldest (and least intelligent) of the three.

“Shaun.”

“Okay.” He glanced between his friends. “See you on the tarmac, guys.”

Danse and Shaun left the mess and meandered over to the training area, mainly because Danse was certain it would be unoccupied at the current time. He sat on a low cinderblock wall and motioned for his son to do the same.

“I assume that you’re expecting some long-winded speech from me imparting wisdom that you deem irrelevant to your life while you quietly nod along,” he begins.

Shaun’s eyebrows go up. “Dad-”

Danse held up a hand to stop him. “I have no intention of doing that. You’re nineteen years old and fully trained. I’m not going to attempt to gloss over the personal difficulties we’ve had with each other in the past year because that would be extremely disrespectful. But by this point, I’d like you to know that despite you being a relentless pain in my ass-” Shaun chuckled, which he’d been hoping for. “-I’ve ultimately learned to feel privileged that I could watch you grow into the man you are today. The only thing I believe is fitting for you to hear from me before you graduate tonight is that I love you and I’m very proud of you.”

Shaun broke into a huge smile. “Thanks, dad.”

They both rose to their feet again and Danse pulled him into an embrace. He knew his persistent high blood pressure issue still bothered Shaun, and Shaun’s chosen career path still gave him nightmares on a fairly consistent basis. But there was nothing to be done about either of those things right now, and gaining this understanding with each other was significantly more important.

“Now,” he continued once they’d let go and sat back down, “what ‘party’ exactly were you discussing with your cohorts?”

“Oh, that. Um, so we’re getting the weekend off before we get deployed, so all of us are gonna go to Diamond City and see what kinds of trouble we can get into,” Shaun grinned. “Plus, Levi  _ really _ needs to get laid like Tina was talking about, and I wanted to see if I can find Sylvia a box of crayons while I’m there. I’m pretty sure I’m getting assigned to the Portland/Bath recon mission, so I won’t get to see her for awhile and she’s sad about it.”

“Sad?”

“Yeah, she still doesn’t like her dad enough to want to be left with just him to hang out with when she’s not getting tutored. I don’t know if they’ll ever get over that disconnect with each other.”

“Children are complicated and difficult to properly interact with.”

“Wow, thanks for that, dad!”

“You were a terrible handful at times.”

“Oh, yeah, it must’ve been  _ so _ hard for you to sit there and watch me draw pictures in a notebook all day!” Shaun laughed.

Danse smiled despite himself and shook his head. “Alright. On that note, I won’t keep you here any longer. Go change into your flight suit.”

“One of the hooded ones?”

“Yes.” Danse reached into the pocket of his fatigue pants. “Incidentally, I was already aware of your celebratory plans for the evening following the promotion ceremony.” He dug out a large fistful of caps and dropped them into Shaun’s hands. “Crayons and liquor aside, buy yourself some piece of worthless junk as a memento. Every time you see it from then on, you’ll associate it with this night and the memories attached.”

“Thanks, dad.”

They exited the training area and walked in essentially opposite directions. Danse was approaching the stairs leading to the helipad when a small form wandering among the storage crates caught his attention. He immediately walked over, wondering how exactly Jonathan had managed to leave the  _ Prydwen _ and make his way here without being noticed. It was widely known that something was improperly wired in the boy’s mind, and also that there was little to be done about it. He needed to be carefully supervised for his own safety.

“Jonathan,” Danse called out, walking more quickly and reaching him in approximately four seconds. “Jonathan.”

Maxson’s son stopped and turned, but didn’t make eye contact. He rarely spoke and at present was fidgeting with a button on his clothes instead of answering.

Danse crouched down on one knee. “Is your presence at the airport intended?”

“Don’know,” he mumbled.

“Is your father looking for you?”

“Don’know.”

“Where is the scribe assigned to you?”

“Don’know.”

Danse nodded slightly. “Did you get lost?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, will you allow me to bring you to your father or to Knight-Captain Cade?”

A long pause. “Knight-Captain Cade.”

“Outstanding.”

Danse held out one of his hands but didn’t make contact - Jonathan was infamously touch-averse. Help had to be offered, not forced. However, Danse spent not an insignificant amount of time in Maxson’s office, and was well familiar with this routine. Jonathan seemed not to mind him the majority of the time.

Two small palms grabbed onto his forearm. That was the signal:  _ carry me. _ Danse slowly and with deliberate motions secured Jonathan to his upper torso, then stood and began walking in the direction of the infirmary. Thin arms clung about his neck and a head rested on his shoulder. Danse quietly felt privileged that Jonathan trusted him, considering the difficulties the boy experienced while interacting with most other people. Unlike the population at large, he was absolutely not convinced that the elder’s son was stupid. Instead he agreed with Cade’s assessment that there was some type of developmental neurological problem at work.

“Knight-Captain.”

“Picked up a straggler, I see.”

“He was alone when I came across him. Whoever was in charge of supervising him should be harshly reprimanded,” Danse growled, setting Jonathan on the exam table.

“How’d he even get down here on his own?”

“That’s an excellent question for which I have no answer.”

Cade sighed. “Jonathan.”

No answer, either visible or audible.

“Jonathan, how’d you get down to the airport?”

“Don’know.”

“Who’s supposed to be watching you, bud?”

“Don’know.”

“Is it a scribe?”

“Don’know.”

“You hungry?”

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

“No.”

“Bored?”

A pause. “Bored.”

“Ah-huh. It’s not safe down here, you might get hurt being around here without someone around to help you.”

Silence.

“You ready to go back home, now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Silence.

Cade sighed again. “Okay.” He shook his head and turned to address Danse. “Are you busy?”

“Not at the moment. I was about to return to my quarters and complete the week’s paperwork prior to the promotion ceremony.”

“Since you’re headed that way anyway, see if you can’t find Arthur and send him down to take care of this.”

“Affirmative.”

Danse turned to fulfil his new task but stopped when Shaun came barreling into the infirmary.

“Knight-Captain have you seen-oh! Thank god!” He heaved a great sigh and then yelled over his shoulder: “SYLVIA! I found your brother!”

Jonathan’s sister bounded into the room - her face was red and her eyes were wet. “Where was he? He let go of my hand and I couldn’t see him anywhere!” she howled, then clumsily scaled the exam table and hugged Jonathan. “Why do you have to be so dumb?! You could’a got us in huge trouble!”

“Kid, I have news for you: you  _ are _ in huge trouble,” Cade informed her. “What the hell are you two doing down here at all?”

“That’s classified,” Sylvia declared boldly, letting go of her brother and folding her hands on her legs.

“Try again.”

“It’s classified!” she shrieked, shaking her head hard enough to whip her pigtails around.

“No it isn’t. You’re obviously up to something and you’re not where you’re supposed to be right now-”

“Excuse me, Knight-Captain,” Shaun interrupted. He walked over to the table and bent down slightly so he was eye-level with the defiant seven-year-old. “Sylvia, you know how sometimes when you do things like this, people get really mad and start yelling?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Yeah. Well, your dad will probably get mad and yell anyway, there’s nothing you can really do about that. But the CMO hasn’t gotten mad and started yelling yet. I bet you can avoid at least some of the yelling if you just tell him the truth right now.”

She sulked. “But then I’ll get punished!”

“Yeah, I know. But you will anyway. At least this way it won’t be quite as bad, right?”

“…I guess.”

“Okay. So tell the CMO why you’re down here.”

Sylvia perked up slightly. “I tricked a Lancer all by myself!” she announced, clearly proud of this fact. “I said my dad said we can come down here, and he flew us down all by ourselves so we could play in the airport! I was really bored ’cause everybody’s busy doing stuff for the promotion thing, so there wasn’t as much people around to see us sneaking down here either! Then Jonathan got lost and I got scared, so then I found Shaun and he helped me look for him.”

“Which Lancer?” Danse questioned.

“Um… Hess? Yeah, it was Hess.”

“His ass is grass now,” Shaun muttered under his breath.

“Sylvia, you and Jonathan will now be returning to the  _ Prydwen _ under my escort,” Danse informed her.

She groaned and returned to sulking. “Yes, Star Paladin,” she grumbled.

Fortunately, Danse was able to return Sylvia and Jonathan to Maxson without further incident and even completed his paperwork prior to the promotion ceremony. This was the second time he’d stood here to watch this, his son’s progression, and as with the previous incidence exactly a year ago he mourned the fact that Anthony could not also witness this momentous occasion.

Danse took his place in formation with the other support officers and stood to attention. If asked, for obvious reasons he would say that he was proud of each of his students who were graduating to Knight and receiving their suits of power armor. Truthfully, he was here for Shaun. He still harbored concerns and doubts but sometime in the last ten months following the incident in the mess of them arguing about a medical file he’d eventually learned to accept Shaun’s life choices as facts he was simply unable to alter.

Squires, then Aspirants, elevated to Initiate rank and receiving their sponsors. And then the former Initiates graduating to their new posts - scribes, lancer cadets, and finally knights. A distinction was briefly made that three of these new knights were also holding the post of field medic. Shaun was placed in Squad Arrow under Paladin Renault and Knight-Sergeant Schulz.

That alone confirmed it - Shaun would definitely be deployed on the reconnaissance mission to Bath Iron Works. The final discussions and hashings-out of logistical details on that expedition had occurred during the staff meeting two weeks ago, and Schwarzwelder had decided long before that point that Squad Arrow was choicest for the exploration of that area. Because the resources were available to enable it, Squad Halberd would also be sent to increase the chances of success. Danse had some misgivings about that part - Knight-Captain Phillips had been subjected to scrutiny several months ago for reckless behavior in the field, but the reports were never able to be confirmed and the inquiry was dropped.

Once the main segment of the promotion ceremony had ended, Danse and Schwarzwelder led the now fully-fledged Knights to a far section of the tarmac; waiting there was a line of empty power armor suits silently expectant of their new owners. At the feet of each set was a cinderblock with a Knight’s name painted on it, and they were dismissed from standing in formation to find their match. All were identical to look at, but the internal mechanisms varied widely. The armor scribes had been extremely busy for the past month installing mods specific to the combat roles of each suit’s owner, and of course there was Shaun’s unique set of battle plate that he’d built from the ground up.

And yet he still hadn’t worn it until now. The final step in its construction had been to replace the inner padding, and as a show of (grudging) acceptance of Shaun’s project Danse had completed the task for him while he was busy studying during a weekend. This gesture had done wonders to repair their relationship, and while he’s still far from thrilled with how this power armor suit came into being, he’s glad he did it and that he was able to convince himself to at last respect his son’s decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's not abundantly clear, Jonathan Maxson The Second has autism. He is not on the same part of the spectrum that Danse is, i.e. he's unable to fulfil the destiny that High Command had previously planned for him.
> 
> So it's going to be a lot of Shaun Kostin POV after this, because his mission to Maine is what I really want to write about. It's been a long time coming.


	23. Celebrations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters within a couple hours of each other? It's more likely than you'd think! (And more likely than *I* would think too, apparently. I did not intend to be up all night writing but it just sort of happened. Oh well.)
> 
> So in light of that, for those of you just joining us for the most recent chapter, you should check and make sure that you're not missing the previous one just in case :)

The vertibird landed in the street and the six of them piled out: Shaun, Levi, Tina, Laura, Alyssa and Brent.

“WOO!” Levi yelled, punching the air with both fists. “We’re the real fucking deal now, man! The world better watch out for us!”

“Oh, god,” the Diamond City security guy groaned when he saw them. “Is it that time of year already?”

“We’re celebrating,” Shaun started to explain.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you shits are doing here. The last group started a brawl in the Dugout and I took ten stitches. If it happens again, we’re just gonna ban your asses for the entire month of June. You understand me, there, Captain Clang?”

“Yes, sir,” Shaun nodded, ignoring the slur.

A sigh. “Alright, go on in, but the first bad word I hear about you idiots, you’re all getting tossed.”

“Try to not be too stupid, okay?” he said, deliberately looking at Levi.

“It’s cool, bro. I’ll do everything in my power to contain my natural awesomeness,” his friend grinned.

Shaun rolled his eyes and didn’t do anything to stop Tina from smacking Levi upside the head, which got Alyssa and Brent snickering. He felt a little bad that it wasn’t just the four of them because he knew Tina had a thing for Alyssa and Alyssa was into dick, but Brent was coming along anyway and it’d be rude to not invite his girlfriend. Besides, with Brent around there’d be somebody else around to keep Levi in line, which meant he might be able to split off from the group and finally, _finally_ have a chance to talk to Laura. A for real talk. He’s had a thing for her since they were just Aspirants but between his regular training and studying all those books and Maxson and then his dad’s health problems, Shaun’s never gotten to spend more than a few minutes with her at a time.

They spread out in the market and Tina pulled him aside right away. “Are you gonna go for it?” she whispered.

“Yeah, I’ll try. See if you can’t get the others out of our hair and while you’re away try not to actually kill Levi.”

Tina laughed and slapped his shoulder. “Alright, I’ll do my best. Good luck, man.”

“Dude, what if she wants to sleep with me?”

“Shaun, she _does_ want to sleep with you. Every girl everywhere wants to sleep with you, okay, I’m pussy-exclusive and even I know you’re gorgeous.”

“Thanks, first of all. Second, I meant what if she wants to sleep with me like… immediately.”

“What, you want some pointers?”

“Yeah.”

She snorted at him. “Well, for starters, if you’re that fucking nervous and weird about it, then don’t sleep with her ‘immediately.’ Come find me again and I’ll tell you exactly what to do so that she’ll never want anyone else but you ever again after. We don’t really got enough time for me to explain all that shit to you right now, though, so first go talk to her and see where things end up.”

“Okay. Thanks, Tina.”

“No problem.”

They split off from each other and Shaun jangled all the caps in his pants pocket. He still had Guardian slung over his back because he felt naked without it, but otherwise he was just in his fatigues and he felt pretty relaxed despite all the craziness going on tonight.

He came up to walk beside Laura. “Hey, um, I have to go buy a couple things, you wanna tag along?”

“Sure, what’re you getting?”

“Sylvia’s mad at me for not being around all the time anymore, so I’m gonna try to find her some crayons before I leave.”

“She has one of those little-kid-crushes on you,” Laura said. “It’s kinda cute.”

“God, I know,” Shaun groaned. “I hope she outgrows that before she gets too big and it turns weird, I’m fucking thirteen years older than her.”

“So anything besides crayons?”

“Yeah, my dad said to get a… um… okay, a worthless piece of junk as a memento of tonight. It sounded like a good idea… what do you think I should get?”

Laura shrugged. “Let’s just see what they have and then you can pick something.”

They wandered over to Diamond City Surplus and stood looking at the shelves of things for at least ten minutes, talking about what might be a good choice. Eventually Myrna got fed up with them.

“This is a store, not an exhibit.”

“Sorry, I’m just trying to make the best choice, all your stuff is so good and I don’t know what to pick!” Shaun told her. That got her off their back again.

“Hey, don’t these get turned into grenades sometimes?” Laura said, pulling something small and dirty-white out of a box.

“Oh, yeah… so my dad actually said this was for a game before the war. He even played it in school, he was third base… whatever the hell that was.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I guess he was really good at it, too. He talked about it sometimes and he said that when he was in the army he was really good at throwing grenades because he played baseball.”

“That’s cool.”

Shaun shared a look with her and they both grinned. “I think I know what I’m buying.” He squeezed his hand a little around it just to feel its texture. “Hey Myrna, um, do you have crayons?”

One hundred and thirty five caps later, there was a box of crayons in eight different colors rattling in his cargo pocket while he walked, tossing the ball up in his hand with each step. His other hand was hanging onto Laura’s and he couldn’t stop smiling right now if he wanted to. They ended up sitting together on a bench near the entrance to the city.

“So what were you talking about with Tina earlier? Is she finally going to murder Levi in his sleep?”

Shaun laughed. “No, I managed to stop her from doing that… uh. This might sound a little weird, we were talking about you.”

“Why?”

“Because she said I should…” Shaun took a breath. “Laura, I’ve had a thing for you for like. Forever. But I was always busy running around doing shit all the time so I could never talk about it with you. And I mean. I always kinda knew us being friends was different from how I am with my other friends, but then there was that one time after power armor training that you took me to get aspirin because my hands got all swelled up. And just. Um. It made me feel really good, that you wanted to help me out even though I didn’t ask first. I really liked that.”

“I totally forgot about that until now, why were your hands hurt?”

“It was the ladder-climbing thing I think, there was no padding in the frame and mine was the one that was all rusted to shit.”

“You know how nobody shuts up about Sentinel Kostin whenever they’re talking about you?”

“Yeah…”

“It’s like they’re mostly interested in you being great in the future and not how you’re great now.”

“I mean…”

“No, really. I don’t think most people can be overloaded like crazy as an Initiate and still come out on top like you did. You’ve got some pretty amazing talents, and you know what? A lot of guys wouldn’t be able to be as good about it as you are. Like look at Levi. He’d be even worse than he already is if he was actually good at anything besides lugging around a minigun.”

Shaun snorted. “Yeah, we’d have to stuff rags in his mouth to cut out the noise.”

“But you don’t do that. You just kind of let it be what it is and you don’t hold it against anyone else that they can’t do all the things you can do.”

“I’m not perfect, Laura,” he said, a little quieter. “Like… I get panic attacks, sometimes. My dad had those, too, or at least that’s what Cade said. Um. I worry about that a little. What if it happens on a mission? And…”

Shaun stopped. He didn’t think he could tell her: _I’m a synth, I’m a copy, I wasn’t actually born._ Nobody knew about that except his dad. But not telling her felt gross. He decided he’d wait a little and tell the truth later on, maybe. Maybe it wasn’t that important at all.

That was when he noticed a lady in an old red jacket staring at him.

“Um, do you need something? Are we in the way?” he asked.

“You’re Shaun Kostin.”

“…yeah. Um. Yeah, I am. What do you want?”

“I’d really like to talk to you, it’ll make such a great story.”

Shaun had no idea what the hell that meant.

“You wanna just catch up with the rest of us in a few minutes so you can take care of this?” Laura asked.

“Um… yeah, I guess.”

“Okay.”

They stood up and then she kissed his cheek before heading off to go find their friends in the bar. Shaun felt a huge grin spread across his face.

“Nice girl you got,” the lady commented.

“Yeah. Um. Okay, first of all, who are you and how do you know my name?”

“Your dad gave me a _great_ interview way back when, that was one of my highest-selling issues for years.”

“Of course that’s it.” Shaun allowed himself a nice long groan because there were no DIs around to stop him here. “Someday, somewhere, _just once_ it would be really fucking awesome if somebody gets to know me first before getting to know my dead dad.”

“Okay, relax, kid. Your dad’s really famous.”

“Yeah, I know he is. He’s been dead for like, nine years now.”

“But you seem to be following in his footsteps, huh? A chip off the old power armor, it looks like. Here, c’mon inside my office for a minute.”

Shaun rolled his eyes, but he did follow her because he was a little bit curious. Lots of times civilians were scared of BoS troops, but this lady clearly had no problem with the laser rifle on his back or the uniform on his body.

“So what do you actually… want from me?” he asked as the door closed behind him.

“An interview that I can publish.”

“You mean like in a newspaper?”

“Exactly,” she nodded. “And there’s something in it for you, too, after you’re done.”

“Caps,” he guessed.

“Nope. Way more valuable.”

“Um… okay. So what do I do?”

“Sit down right there.”

So he sat, and then: “Where’d you get that?”

“Actually, I got it from Anthony. He gave me an interview when he first breached the surface out of the vault, and then I got a second one from him after he blew Cambridge all to hell. He brought me one of these so that I could film interviews, and it changed my newspaper for the better.” She popped in a holotape. “I’ve seen things like these before, but they’re these big chunky monstrosities. Not like this little guy.”

“So um, who are you, actually?”

“I’m Piper, peddler of free speech and nemesis of self-serving politicians everywhere.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Piper pressed a button on the side of the recorder and set it on the coffee table facing him. “So, Mr. Shaun Kostin, in the flesh at last. I always wanted to meet you, actually. Tell me a little about yourself, first, so I can get a baseline.”

“Um, I’m in the Brotherhood of Steel. I just graduated to Knight this afternoon and I’m being deployed for my first tour outside the Commonwealth on Monday. I came here with my friends so we could celebrate.”

“Perfect… now, how would you say losing your father has affected you?”

“Oh my god,” Shaun groaned, rolling his eyes. “Mostly it’s just fucking annoying by now, okay? Everyone everywhere asked me that question already. It happened a long time ago. I was sad for awhile. I barely even remember him anymore, I didn’t have him for that long anyway. I’m over it. Can you ask me about shit besides my dad dying, please?”

Piper nodded a little. “I see. I’m sorry for that, actually. It didn’t really occur to me that other people probably beat the issue to death before I got here. But, I bet nobody else has asked you this yet: if he was sitting here with you, right now, what would you say to him?”

“Um…”

“Anything at all. The first thing you’d tell him about.”

Shaun had to think about that one for a second. “I guess… I don’t think I’d have to say anything, actually. Instead, um, I’d rather hear him tell me how proud of me he is. And how much he loves me. I would want him to say that he wishes things were different, and that he got to see me go through all my training and everything. But also… um…” Shaun choked a little. “Y’know, while we’re playing make-believe here for a second, I think what would be way more important would be if this ghost of my dad would go tell my other dad to fucking get over it already. He’s still not over it. And like, people write about that in books all the time and shit, how you can love someone else more than life itself, and I think that’s just such a shitty thing for people to do. Because then that person you love more than life itself dies and you’re just left hurting until someday you die, too. That’s such a shitty way to live. But. But it happens that way for people. My dad still can’t get over it. I wish he could but he’s not gonna.”

A few seconds of silence followed after he stopped that train of thought.

“So did you always dream of following in his footsteps and joining the Brotherhood?”

“Yeah, of course. He rescued me from the Institute. I hate people asking me about him, and about him dying, but he’s still a hero. He’s my hero, too. I want to be someone he’d be proud of. I think I’m doing an okay job at that so far.”

“How old were you when you got out of the Institute?”

“Um… ten? But like. Actually two hundred and twenty. Because he was two hundred and forty at the time even though he was actually thirty when the bombs dropped. The whole vault-freezing thing fucks everything up,” Shaun laughed.

“Alright,” she smiled. “One last thing. In your dad’s first interview, I asked him to make a statement for me about how he was looking for you, and what he wanted anyone to hear that lost family members to the Institute. So I’ve got a similar question for you, too. What do you think is the most important thing to know for children who lose a parent?”

“Um… I think really you just gotta remember that they’re not completely gone. Like even if your dad’s not a big deal like mine was, there’s tons of people around who remember the person you lost. It’s not just you, y’know? You’re not the only one. And it’s your parents, there’s pieces of them in you anyway. I mean I look just like my dad, everyone always says I’m so much like him. But even if you’re just a little bit like your parents, they’re still in there with you. That never goes away.”

“Profound… uplifting… excellent.” She turned it off. “You are just like him, really. I mean that as a compliment.”

“So you interviewed him?”

“Twice. The second one never got published, though.” Piper went upstairs and Shaun could hear her rummaging for a couple minutes before she came back. “Here. This is the second one. I think once you see it, you’ll probably get a pretty good idea why it never got printed… it was too personal. He asked me not to, so it only lives on holotapes.”

“There’s more than one?”

“I made a copy in case one of the tapes stopped working. You can keep that one.”

“Okay. Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it. So you said you’re getting deployed, soon.”

“Yeah, hopefully my squad is the one that’s getting to go on the recon mission.”

“I’ll save a copy of the article for you for when you get back, then.”

“Cool.” He left to go find his friends again after that, slipping the holotape into his pocket beside the crayons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I've never written Piper before. I don't know if I got her right. I barely interact with her in the game because I'm always stomping around with Danse instead. So it's highly likely she's just limited to this one cameo in this fic.


	24. Mistakes All Around

Maxson rapped his knuckles on the metal door five times, then glanced down to make sure Jonathan was still standing nearby (he was).

“Enter,” came a muffled shout from inside.

“Star Paladin. I need a favor.”

Danse looked over his shoulder from his desk. “Yes, Elder?”

“After yesterday’s incident I’m sure you can understand why I have difficulty trusting the majority of my subordinates with the task of supervising my son for even a brief period. I would like to ask that you will accommodate me and watch him for approximately ninety minutes this morning while I attend to some things.”

Danse’s eyebrows raised. “I suppose that won’t be a problem, sir, provided he doesn’t prove to be too much of a handful.”

“I doubt he’ll give you much trouble, when he’s not being influenced by Sylvia’s antics he tends to lie on the floor and draw on scrap papers.”

“Alright.”

“Thank you, this lifts a great burden from me for the time being.”

“You’re welcome. I assume new measures will be implemented to prevent a similar ordeal from taking place in the future.”

“Absolutely. Unfortunately Lancer-Captain Kells had more important duties to attend to, so I’ve placed Sylvia with Quinlan for the morning while he files technical documents. Allegedly her misbehavior occurred yesterday due to boredom, so I’ve elected to demonstrate for her what boredom  _ actually _ feels like.”

Danse handed a stack of blank papers and a pen to Jonathan, then frowned. “Arthur… have you attempted at any point to explain to her why what she did was wrong and why it was so frightening for everyone involved?”

“…no.”

“Far be it from me to tell you how you should rear your offspring, but in my experience an explanation generally goes a long way to helping improve the behavior of a child. If the behavior continues afterwards, then a penalty may be warranted, but communication taking place first tends to be much more effective.”

This never even occurred to him.

“I’ll take it into consideration.”

Maxson returned to his office and sat.

“Everything is in place, Elder,” Schwarzwelder reported. “All the supply requisitions have been completed and the briefing for both squads has been prepared.”

“Excellent.”

“Elder, I would just like to say that we appreciate your approval of vertibird support for our recon,” Renault commented.

“Resources were available to permit this addition,” Maxson replied. “And previously, continuous vertibird support would’ve been preferable on a great many reconnaissance operations but the materials weren’t plentiful enough to allow anything more than an insertion and an extraction. Essentially, your deployment may be considered a field test. If this alteration makes a significant positive impact like we expect, it will be continued in the future. However I don’t feel any need to lecture you about resource management, if I didn’t trust you then you wouldn’t be heading this operation in the first place. The Lancer-Sergeants will defer to you and may be considered as members of your squad specifically going forward.”

“Yes, sir.” He frowned slightly. “Elder… I understand that it’s too late to make any changes, but it was recently brought to my attention that Knight-Captain Phillips was investigated for problematic behavior.”

“We observed no concrete proof of this beyond hearsay,” Maxson said as dismissively as possible. “You are the ranking officer in any case.”

“Yes, Elder.”

He flipped the folder shut on the desk in front of him after skimming the top page, then handed it to Renault. “Your briefing, Paladin. In the event that I don’t see you again before your departure on Monday, I wish you good luck.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Renault left, closing the door behind him. Maxson turned back to Schwarzwelder. “Were any further inquiries made about Phillips following the one in November?”

“No, sir. His subordinates complained but nothing substantial was offered.”

“And your opinion?”

“My opinion as an officer or as a man, sir?”

“Both.”

Schwarzwelder sighed and shook his head. “As an officer, I find him perfectly average. As a man… permission to speak frankly, sir.”

“Feel free.”

“As a man, I don’t like him, I don’t trust him, and it would be best for everyone if he gets killed five minutes into this operation.”

“Then why was he selected?”

“Because he took part in our brief reconnaissance of Far Harbor and the Island. He has the necessary experience for this mission. Our only other officer who’s even remotely familiar with the climate there and would be high-ranking enough to be sent has been reassigned to a desk for over a year.”

“I wouldn’t trust Danse to lead this mission.”

“Neither would I, sir. He’s too old and I’ve read his psych evals… they’re better than they were, but he’s still fragile.”

A knock on the door of Maxson’s office interrupted them.

“Come in,” he called.

It was Kostin. Of course it was Kostin.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Knight, I would expect you to be aware that you’re no longer training with me anymore.” Maxson tried to bury his amusement.

Kostin grinned. “Yes, sir, I know. That’s not why I’m here.”

“I see. What may I help you with, then?”

“Well, sir, since I’m getting deployed soon, um, I just wanted to thank you before I left for sponsoring me. I learned a lot from you and it’s been a really good experience for me, and I’m also still really honored that I was the very first Initiate you picked to teach.”

Maxson shared a brief look with Schwarzwelder before answering.

“It’s been my privilege, Knight. You’re extremely competent and I’m proud to have called you my student as well. I have great expectations for your career with the Brotherhood and subsequently no doubts at all that you’ll meet and even exceed them. I wish you good fortune and a productive, successful tour of duty in the northeast.”

He stood up from his chair and they shook hands.

“Thank you, Elder.”

“You’re welcome. Good luck, Knight. Dismissed.”

Maxson closed the door again and shook his head.

“I’ve  _ never _ had a kid like that for a student, sir.”

“Paladin-Commander, I think it’s safe to say that nobody has.” Maxson sighed. “I hope his reputation isn’t tarnished too heavily when he makes his first mistake in the field.”

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be sporadic. Please don't hold that against me.
> 
> Portions of this fic would not be possible without [Raiven_Raine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raiven_Raine/pseuds/Raiven_Raine/works)'s help and support, and he also writes excellent Fallout 4 content so you should go read his stuff too because he's just the best.
> 
> Another addition I'd like to make to these notes is to explain that I write Danse with autism - he behaves like a person on the "high" end of the spectrum in the game and I have autism myself, so representation and stuff. My boyfriend said "oh well that's because he's a robot," but that doesn't make sense, because there are plenty of other gen-3 synths who behave like neurotypical people. I'm adding this explanation so that his obsessive behavior makes more sense.
> 
> Please leave kudos/comments (comments especially are welcomed and encouraged, even if you just say 'hi I like this' it will seriously make my day).


End file.
